


I Protect, You Serve

by AdamantSteve, Lillyjk



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Blowjobs, Bondage, Cop AU, Dom/sub, Fake Dating, Flirting, Hand Feeding, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Spanking, UST, Workplace Relationship, bringing each other food, dating site, dom!Phil, face fucking, kink discussion, mentions of dub con, mentions of hand feeding, mentions of non con, sex crime investigations, sub!clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-03-30 06:20:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 53,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3926110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantSteve/pseuds/AdamantSteve, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillyjk/pseuds/Lillyjk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the NYPD, dom and sub cops are partnered together. After Phil's last sub moves on, he's paired with a new one - Clint Barton - and together they take on a case which threatens to challenge Phil's strict rules about sleeping (and falling in love) with his co-workers. </p><p> </p><p>  <i>Cop AU/BDSM AU mashup featuring Clint Barton and Phil Coulson, liberally sprinkled with UST, sexy daydreams and a hell of a lot of coffee. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is completely finished, but we're going back over it as we post each chapter, which should take a couple of weeks til we've posted the entire thing, depending on our personal time constraints. 
> 
> The final word count is over 50,000 words, which is definitely the longest thing that either of us have ever written! 
> 
> Huge thanks to Lola381pce for betaing, and thanks to everyone who over the last few months has been supportive of us as we've struggled to edit this beast of a story. We finally did it! 
> 
> Check the end notes for spoilerific warnings for possibly triggering content. We'll be updating the tags as we go.
> 
> POV changes are marked with a horizontal line break.

“The Captain wants you in his office,” Hill said, dropping down into her chair at the next desk over. “He said it was an order, not a request.”

 

Phil looked up from his computer and rubbed the back of his neck. “Did he say what it was about?” It was always better to be prepared when summoned to Fury's office. Even after more than a dozen years of working together and serving together in the Army before that, Nick kept him on his toes.

 

Hill shrugged. “Pretty sure he's about to assign you a new partner. He was on the phone with Captain Rawlings over at the 40 th in the Bronx. Sounded like there was another sub that,” she made little air quotes with her fingers, “ _just wasn't the right fit for those guys_.”

 

Phil sighed, “Let me guess, another sub didn't get on their knees fast enough for Garrett. I can't believe IA hasn't busted his ass yet.” Shit, Phil and John Garrett had gone through the academy together way back when, even been friends of a sort until Garrett started using his position as a dominant to coerce the submissive  detectives he was partnered with on the job. None of the submissives would press charges or even speak a word against Garrett, but the man burned through them like wildfire.

 

The Submissive Rights Act had been on the books for decades now, requiring, among other things, that each police squad partner a dominant and submissive together. All too often, submissives were either the witnesses or victims to crimes and the wrong dominant detective asking the wrong kind of questions or pushing too hard resulted in a complete shutdown of information or the submissives saying whatever they thought the dominant detective wanted to hear. Most submissives who had been victimized responded much better to one of their own. This was especially true in Phil's department, the Manhattan Special Victims Unit.

 

He pushed back from his desk and headed toward Fury's office. He'd been partner-less since Bruce transferred out a few months ago and had been rotating through some of the other subs in the department in the meantime when he was on calls. He'd known that dark eyed, gentle-souled Bruce wouldn't last long working sex crimes, but Phil had hoped he'd make it a year. Bruce was across the hall in white collar crimes now and thriving, so Phil couldn't begrudge the loss of another good partner.

 

He knocked on Fury's open door and stepped inside when the Captain waved him in. “You wanted to see me?”

 

Nick sat back in his office chair and steepled his hands together. “I've got another one for you, Cheese.”

 

“Why do I feel like I need to sit down for this one?” Phil made himself comfortable in one of the overstuffed  seats  on either side of Nick's desk.

 

“Look, I know I promised you no more difficult subs after that shit storm with Ward, but this guy is a special case.”

 

“Another one of Garrett's burnouts?” Phil asked. “Because the number he did on Pepper… fuck, Nick, the guy shouldn't have a badge. He should be in Rikers right now with those other sub-abusing scumbags.”

 

Nick shook his head and slid a file across his desk to Phil. “This guy had some run-ins with Garrett but didn't work directly with him. He was partnered with Sitwell.”

 

Phil considered that; Sitwell was a good guy and had a decent reputation. He flipped open the file and scanned through it, there was no picture but plenty of paper work. He read key points out loud, “Clint Barton, submissive, made detective relatively young, commendations for bravery scattered in with numerous disciplinary infractions. Let's see, Sitwell's notes say brilliant, wasted in his current position in narcotics, but trouble with authority, doesn't play well with others, mouthy, attitude problems, dynamic struggles. Suspended for,” Phil paused and looked up at Nick, “striking a superior officer. Doesn't say who though.”

 

Nick shrugged, “Yeah, I called Captain Rawlings but that fucker danced all around it. He's not a fan of Barton, but hell, you know he's old school, doesn't thinks subs should be on the job at all. Truth be told he probably thinks I should be riding people up and down in the elevator like my grandfather because my skin's the wrong color. Basically we take Barton on or he's gonna be farmed out to Staten Island. I wouldn't push him on you, but Sitwell's a good man and if he says Barton's brilliant and needs a second chance, I say we give it to him.”

 

He tapped his fingers on the desk and looked at Phil. “You need a sub partner, Barton's a sub in need of a good dom partner. You've saved the careers of difficult subs before. Hell, look what you did with Romanov, she's about to make Senior Detective and when she partnered with you she was two minutes away from being fired.”

 

Phil nodded, Natasha had been difficult but worth it. As a beautiful female sub, she'd spent the first few years of her career being underestimated, belittled, and systematically torn down by the doms she'd been partnered with. By the time she was partnered with Phil she was a walking attitude problem. It had taken months for her to trust him, even longer before she started opening up to him and then things had clicked and they'd become unstoppable. If she hadn't transferred to help set up Brooklyn's fledgling SVU, they would still be working together.

 

She had become one of Phil's closest friends and they still met for lunch whenever they could find the time to make it work with their schedules. It was Natasha that had kicked his ass when he blamed himself for Ward. But Phil couldn't let himself think about  that catastrophe right now, not when Nick was watching him with his one all too knowing eye.

 

“Sure, I'll take him on.” Phil said, getting to his feet. “But remember, Banner was pretty much the ideal sub partner, so it's entirely possible that I've lost my touch with the not so ideal ones.”

 

Nick nodded. “Duly noted, now get your ass back out there and brush up on your interpersonal skills. Barton will be here in the morning.”

 

Phil stopped midway to the door and looked back over his shoulder. “I never had a say in this at all, did I?”

 

Nick laughed. “Hell, Cheese, you always were a soft touch when it came to a troubled sub. I knew you wouldn't say no.”

 

Phil spent the next forty-five minutes on the phone, trying to run down a lead on a particularly brutal sexual assault case. It was the third one this month, at least the third one with this level of aggression. The sub victims had been left traumatized physically and emotionally to the point that the were either unwilling or unable to describe their attacker or give more than the haziest description of their attack. Phil was almost positive they were looking for the same perp, based on the similarity between the wounds.

 

He paged through the file, taking in the distinct pattern of bruises and small puncture wounds around the victim’s thighs, ankles, wrists and necks. He had seen plenty of restraint marks before, both those resulting from safe consensual play, some of them his own handiwork, and the not so nice ones that his work exposed him to. These had him stumped. The ligature marks didn't look like they'd been made from rope, leather, cloth, bondage tape, or any of the usual material used for binding.

 

He had picked the phone up to call back down to forensics with another question for Simmons when he heard shouts from the hall.

 

He glanced around the nearly deserted squad room but Hill was on the phone and Sam Wilson and Melinda May were busy playing good cop/bad cop with a suspect in one of the interrogation rooms. The shouts were definitely coming closer. Phil pushed back from his desk and was on his way to investigate when the double doors swung open and Rumlow from the anti-gang task force came tumbling through to land on his ass at Phil's feet

 

“What the?” Phil started, offering Rumlow a hand. The guy was a hothead but even he wasn’t known for fighting in the precinct halls.

 

“You little shit. Fucking sub cock tease,” Rumlow scrambled up, ignoring Phil's outstretched hand and pushing past him. “Somebody needs to teach you your place.”

 

He was directing his comments at the – whoa, really attractive man standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips. He had on dark jeans that clung to muscular thighs, a thin black sweater that pulled tight across a broad chest and a dark brown leather jacket. His face was rugged, with messy dark blond hair and gorgeous blue green eyes. His mouth was twisted into a half smirk, half sneer as he faced down Rumlow.

 

“Well, it's not going to be you now is it, motherfucker?” Hot Guy said. “Or do you need another lesson on how to keep your hands to yourself?”

 

Rumlow tried to go for him again but Phil muscled him back, putting space between them. “Let me go, Coulson.” Rumlow huffed, letting out a wince when Phil twisted his arm behind his back and shoved him up against the wall.

 

“Yeah, Coulson,” Hot Guy said. “Let him go. I'd love an excuse to break his nose.”

 

Phil narrowed his eyes. Hot or not, the guy's taunting was not helping the situation. “That's enough from you. We've got things under control here, don't we, Rumlow?” He pressed his free hand against the back of Rumlow's neck and pushed hard until the other man's face was grinding against the wall. _“Don't we?”_ He hated these fucking dominance game with other doms, but sometimes it was the only thing that got through when tempers flared.

 

“Yeah, yeah. All right.” Rumlow said, the tension leaving his body. “You can let me go now.”

 

Phil gave it another few seconds, his shoulder pressing hard into Rumlow's back, before he loosened his grip on the other man and stepped away. “Anybody want to tell me what exactly is going on here?”

 

By this time they'd drawn a crowd. Hill was standing at Phil's back, her hand resting casually on the butt of her service piece. May and Wilson weren't far behind.

 

“Sure,” Hot Guy said with a sneer. “Your _boy_ here thought he could grab my ass because I smiled at him in the elevator.”

 

“It was more than smiling,” Rumlow protested, rubbing at the rapidly swelling lump below his eye where Hot Guy had evidently punched him. “You were flirting and you know it.”

 

Hot Guy smirked, “I don't care if I was eye-fucking you, you piece of shit. You don't get to touch me without my permission. What is it with you dom cops, anyway? A sub smiles at you and you think it's okay to put your hands all over them. Newsflash douchebag, I smile at everybody. I'm one grade A friendly guy. I flirt with everybody. Hell,” he motioned toward Phil. “Blue eyes here looks pretty damn hot in his suit, I'd probably be smiling and flirting with him if not for your sorry ass.”

 

Phil flushed, Hot Guy was hot. He couldn't imagine how hot Hot Guy would be if he stopped snarking and started flirting. “How about you,” he pointed at Rumlow. “Get out of here before I call HR and you end up in another Submissive Equality in the Workplace Seminar. And you,” he turned toward Hot Guy. “Where are you supposed to be?”

 

“He's supposed to be right here, Coulson.” Fury's voice boomed across the room. “Meet your new partner, Detective Clint Barton.”

 

Well, hell.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Clint openly checked out his new partner’s ass on the way to his desk. He wasn’t lying - he really would have picked him to flirt with had that handsy asshole not gotten in his way. Detective Phil Coulson was way hotter in person than Clint was prepared for; that short exchange in the hallway, watching him press that asshole dom against the wall had been enough for Clint to mentally mark him down on his ‘would totally blow’ list. 

 

He wasn’t about to offer to help move all the guy’s crap off of his new desk, though. Flirting was one thing, but if he started _serving_ people they’d start taking that shit for granted. He'd learned that lesson the hard way, back before he ever left Iowa. Sex was sex, going to his knees for pleasure was something he was good at. He was the kind of sub doms liked to get off with before they moved on, not the kind they wanted to build a future with. Take it beyond the moment, try to extend his "good boy" desires and need to please beyond the fuck/suck moment and it backfired every time.  

 

He leaned against the edge of the desk and watched as Coulson tossed things into the trash and scooped files together before piling them on top of the heaps on his own desk. 

 

“Sorry about all the mess,” Coulson said, stepping away and pulling the office chair with him so Clint could sit down. “I would’ve tidied earlier but I’ve been wrapped up in a case. Weren’t you coming tomorrow?” 

 

“Wanted to catch you unawares,” Clint smirked, taking the seat and turning to his new, empty desk. The truth was, time off was boring; Clint really just wanted to get to work. He turned back to Phil, who was now sorting through the stuff he’d hastily added to his messy desk. “So, what case were you so absorbed in that only a damsel in distress could tear you away?” 

 

Coulson arched an eyebrow at him. “Damsel in distress? By the looks of things you could more than hold your own out there. Rumlow’s going to have quite the shiner.” 

 

“Always nice to be saved by a big handsome dom, though,” Clint said, and actually batted his eyelashes and bit his lip. 

 

His overt display of cartoonish flirtation didn’t quite have the desired effect, as Coulson just kind of frowned at him. He pulled out a file from the middle of the desk and handed it over, but didn’t let go when Clint went to take it from him. 

 

“You don’t have to do that,” Coulson said quietly but firmly. “I know what it’s like in some precincts, but here, you don’t need to play power games, and if anyone around here does try anything with you-“

 

“Then you’ll shove ‘em up against a wall for me?” 

 

Coulson’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t look away, and Clint couldn’t help but smile. “Alright, boss, I get it. No games.” Coulson nodded minutely and let go of the file. As he did so, Clint added, “at least not til we know each other's safe word.”

 

Coulson sighed and raised his eyes to the heavens. 

 

Yeah, Clint was gonna fit in here just fine. 

 

* * *

Coulson gave Clint a quick tour of the office, introducing him to May, Wilson, and Hill along the way. He explained the pairings and gave him a rundown on who was who. He seemed to be well liked amongst the rest of the staff, and Clint got the feeling that the place was more like a family than the team he’d been stationed with back in the Bronx. Sitwell had been pretty cool, but the rest of the doms had been  more of the old school variety that thought submissives should just be eye candy or fucktoys.

 

“That leaves just a few you won't meet today. Fitz is Hill's partner, he's out on personal leave for the next day or two. I'll take you down to forensics to meet Simmons and Mack later. They're technically not in our division, but so many of our cases are time sensitive that we get a little special treatment and they pretty much always move our stuff to the head of the line.” 

 

Phil took Clint to the basement to meet the weapons officer and then up a narrow staircase to what seemed to be an attic space set up like something out of the Matrix, computer equipment and screens on every possible surface. “Skye's been called over to assist with Brooklyn SVU on a case this afternoon, but she's based out of here too. With the increase in computer-related crimes of a sexual nature she's on permanent loan from the Cyber Crime division at HQ.”

 

They finished up the tour in the break room where Rumlow was leaning against the counter, nursing the black eye Clint had given him with a bag of ice. “We share the break room with a couple of other divisions, white collar, anti-gang mostly. You two have already met, but this is Brock Rumlow, he works in the anti-gang division.”

 

“Nice to meet you,” Clint said, holding out a hand. Rumlow looked at Clint and then at Coulson, who just smiled pleasantly, before shaking Clint’s hand with the strongest grip he could muster before slinking out of the room. 

 

“Nice guy,” Clint said, and he was pretty sure he saw Coulson smile as he opened a cupboard to pull out a couple of mugs.

 

“I think that’s everyone who’s here today,” he said. “I just need to know one thing: how do you take your coffee?” 

 

Huh. Clint schooled his expression so as not to seem too surprised that his dom partner was about to make him coffee rather than shooing him off to the kitchen with his own drink order. “Black,” he replied cautiously. Best not to get too used to anything.

 

Coulson winced. “Are you sure?” he nodded towards the percolator, which looked like it had been installed along with the rest of the kitchen in the 1970s. “It’s pretty terrible coffee.”

 

Clint nodded. “I kinda like precinct coffee. There’s something about it you just don’t get with Starbucks.”

 

“Yeah, that burnt rubber flavour really brings out the wet cardboard undertones.”

 

Clint laughed and was pleased to see Coulson’s smile as he poured them two cups. He doctored his own with milk and way too much sugar before handing a cup to Clint and clinking it with his own. “Welcome to Precinct 18, Detective Barton.”

 

Clint lifted his mug and took a sip, letting the predictably acrid coffee fill his mouth, feeling Coulson’s eyes on him the whole time. 

 

“That’s delicious,” he choked, and Coulson laughed before leading them back out to their desks. 

 

Later, Clint had set himself up at his computer terminal and called through to the badge department, and Coulson had given his desk a thorough straightening, ending up with four stacks of files.

 

“Alright,” Coulson said once Clint had finished his call with someone who he wasn’t entirely sure wasn’t a robot. He was leaning against the desk and Clint couldn’t help but track the length of his legs in those perfectly fitted trousers. He’d taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves during his tidying, and Clint had been a little distracted. Well, he’d played it up as best he could, anyway. Coulson didn’t seem to bat an eyelid, though. Maybe if he could get Rumlow to hit him again…

 

Oblivious to Clint’s thoughts, Coulson continued. “These are ongoing,” he said, placing his hand on a stack of files about five inches tall. He moved onto another heap that was perhaps two inches taller than that. “These are semi-cold, mostly waiting to get signed off and filed as unsolved.” 

 

“Assholes,” Clint muttered in their direction, well familiar with annoying cases that just wouldn’t play ball. Still, he was excited to sneak a peek the next time he had a chance; there was nothing quite as exciting as cracking a cold case by spotting a detail no one had noticed before. Didn’t make him many friends but hell, Clint didn’t care.

 

“And here’s this week,” Coulson picked up the smallest heap of all, just three thin files. 

 

“What about that one?” Clint asked of the fourth heap. 

 

“Oh, they’re just projects. Couple of cold cases.”

 

Clint waited for Coulson to elaborate, tell him about the one that got away, or the legendary case that no one could solve, but nothing was forthcoming. 

 

“Did you take a look at the files from the active cases I gave you earlier?” Coulson said after a protracted silence.

 

Clint nodded. The files were on a series of subs who had shown up out of the blue, a couple of weeks apart, bearing similar kinds of ligature marks all over their bodies. They were all young but nothing else seemed to relate them. “Right. I glanced through it pretty quickly but nothing jumped out.” He turned to grab the file and flip it open before placing it half on Coulson’s desk, half on his own. “Any of the witnesses give up anything?” 

 

Coulson shook his head sadly. “No, but we should go interview them again at some point, see if they’re in better shape than when we first found ‘em. This kid came in off the street, didn’t know what city he was in.”

 

“Shit. Who talked to him?”

 

“Just me. It’ll be good to have you around for some of this stuff. How good are you with witnesses?”

Clint half shrugged. “Good with victims, especially subs, not always so good with asshole doms.”

 

Coulson nodded and wryly said, “that’s a surprise.”

 

They went through the file and Coulson filled Clint in a little about some more of the details, like how the victims were uniformly dazed and confused but none of them seemed to have drugs in their system. “Brought down hard and kept there,” he said at one point, and judging by their pictures, Clint could well believe it. "All three remembered smelling perfume or flowers or something like that but couldn't be more specific."

 

“And then they just walked in?”

 

“This one did. This one,” Coulson flipped back through the file to another victim, “was brought in by someone who found her in the street. And this one was found in a church.” 

 

Clint studied Coulson’s face the way he would if he were interviewing a suspect or a victim. Looking for traces of fear, pain, worry. All he saw was sorrow and a tinge of frustration.

 

Coulson caught him looking and said, “What?” 

 

“You care a lot, huh?”

 

Coulson snorted and flipped through the file again, not meeting Clint’s eye. “I already have one mother telling me not to let the job take over my life, I don’t need another one.” 

 

“No, caring’s good. I mean, this job’ll chew you up if you let it, but,” he shrugged. “I care.”

 

The way Coulson looked at him then, Clint suddenly felt the very real dominance he must be able to exude when he wanted to. He didn’t shrink back in his seat but it was a conscious decision not to. 

 

“Maybe I get kicked out of every precinct I go to, but I do care, Coulson.”

 

Coulson checked himself and the intensity of his gaze softened. Clint had a vision of him interrogating suspects and hoped he might get to see it someday soon. Hopefully whenever they caught whoever this serial abuser was.

 

Clint flipped back through the file again and looked at a closeup of the marks on one of the victim's wrists. The paperwork said the binding was still unidentified, but Clint tapped his pen on it as he cast his mind back to a barn in Iowa…

 

“Barbed wire,” he said, looking up at Coulson. “They were bound with barbed wire.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Phil pulled the department sedan alongside the curb where Barton was waiting to be picked up outside his apartment building. They'd worked into the night after Barton had figured out what made the ligature marks the previous afternoon and they planned to start this morning off by going straight to Mt. Sinai to talk to the latest victim. As a senior detective, Phil was able to check out one of the department sedans the night before and it was a short drive from his place to Barton's neighborhood.

 

Barton had seemed a little skittish about giving Phil his address, but it made more sense than making the trek to the precinct when they were headed in the opposite direction. Phil understood Barton's hesitancy he supposed, he knew from experience that it was all too easy to let the line between professional and personal blur.

 

Watching Barton jog over to the car in yet another pair of well-fitting jeans, this time topped with a light blue button up shirt open at the neck and a gray sports coat, Phil thought it would be a short step to cross that line. Barton's leap of logic about the barbed wire proved he was more than just a handsome face and hard body. Phil just couldn't get a good read on him. He seemed equal parts outrageous flirt and prickly attitude but there were glimpses of something else underneath.

 

“Hey,” Barton said as he slid into the car, giving Phil a wide smile. “Thanks for picking me up.”

 

“No problem.” Phil gestured toward the center console. “I picked up coffee and donuts on the way. I can't promise the exquisite flavor of the precinct coffee pot but this stuff is pretty good.”

 

“You brought enough for me?” Barton seemed surprised as he looked in the bag while Phil pulled back into traffic.

 

“Of course.” Phil replied. “Help yourself. I wasn't sure what kind of donut you'd like, so there's a variety but I remembered you take your coffee black.”

 

Barton let out a laugh and dug into the bag. “Donuts. Way to be the cliche, Coulson.” He came out with a powdered donut and promptly took a bite, chasing it with a swig of coffee. “You do know that grease and sugar is like, the worst thing in the world for you, right?” He patted his flat belly. “Can't have too many of these or my clothes won't fit.”

 

“Pretty sure you're not in danger of losing your figure just from a couple of donuts. You know you can call me Phil, right?” He took a sip of his own coffee and reached into the bag snagging a cinnamon donut for himself. “Besides, I like to start the day with a little something sweet.”

 

Barton passed him a napkin, his fingers brushing along Phil's hand. “Well, aren't you lucky to be starting your day with me then, Phil.” Barton emphasized the name, teeth sinking into his lower lip to make an extra hard F sound.

 

God, his name sounded good coming out of Barton's mouth.

 

Phil shot a glance at him when he pulled to stop at a traffic light, surprised to see that Barton was leaning half across the console toward him.

 

“And hey, you've got a little sugar here.” Instead of pointing to his own mouth, Barton swiped his thumb across Phil's bottom lip, wiping away a smudge of cinnamon sugar. He very deliberately looked up at Phil through his eyelashes while he licked the sugar off his thumb. “You're right, something sweet does hit the spot.”

 

Yeah, Phil thought, tearing his eyes away from Barton's pink tongue making delicate swipes at his thumb. It was going to a long day.

 

It took them the better part of an hour to make it the short drive to the hospital with workday traffic and they spent the time talking about the case. The latest victim was a young male sub in his early twenties who'd been found naked and bleeding in a church vestibule in Midtown.

 

Arnold Trevors had been disoriented, dehydrated and traumatized when he arrived at the hospital four days ago. In addition to the ligature marks where he'd been restrained, there were symbols carved in his chest and tearing from where he'd been penetrated by something, possibly the barrel of a gun. The kid had no family and had only moved to the city from a small town upstate a couple of months prior.

 

Phil had interviewed him twice but Arnold had shut down both times, refusing to give more than his name and a vague story about smelling flowers and waking up in the church with no recollection of how he got there.

 

“He's young and scared,” Phil said as they walked down the corridor to Arnold's room. “And I don't know if he really doesn't remember or if it's just that he wants to forget.”

 

Clint shrugged, “Maybe a little of both. If he's young he was probably pretty inexperienced. Young naive sub alone in the big city, puts his trust in the wrong dom and it goes to shit. Certainly wouldn't be the first time that's happened.”  He pushed his hand back through his hair and tugged at his jacket. “Heck, I've been in this town nearly twenty years and I still see things that I never imagined back in Iowa. I was nineteen when I hit this city and it's still a mystery to me.” He had a faraway look for a moment as if remembering some of his own misadventures as a young sub in the city.

 

Phil could picture it, a younger Clint Barton, all big eyes and flirty smiles set loose in New York City. Probably with the same attitude he had now but without the skills to defend himself if somebody got a little too aggressive. A shiver worked its way down his spine. It was all too easy to imagine a young Barton as the subject of one of the files that crossed his desk. The Clint Barton of today was clearly Not Anyone’s Victim… but Phil felt something in him yearn to protect him anyway.

 

“Do you mind if I try taking the lead?” Barton was looking at him questioningly, and Phil realised he’d let himself drift a little. How unprofessional. “I know I'm a little late to the party but he might open up to another sub.”

 

“No,” Phil said. “Of course not. I'll just stay out of the way and you can do your thing. Unless you think it's better for you to go in alone.”

 

Barton looked shocked at the suggestion, like Phil was crazy to trust him with the responsibility of a witness interview without a dom present. Christ, what kind of asshole doms had Barton been working with?

 

Barton finally responded. “No, I think you should just make introductions and then try to look as bored as possible. Subs are used to doms tuning us out. If he thinks he doesn't have to worry about your attention but you're still close enough to be protective it should do the trick.”

 

Phil did just that.

 

It was amazing to watch Barton with Arnold. After the initial niceties, Phil had retreated to a chair in the corner of the room and bent over his tablet in an effort to look uninterested. Over the course of the next hour and half, the kid went from belligerent to wary to trusting under Barton's gentle questioning.

 

Barton seemed to know when to push, when to back off and when to crack a joke to try to lighten the mood. From his position, Phil could hear most of the conversation although there were a couple of times when they dropped to a whisper and he could only get snatches.

 

Barton had raised his voice only once, when Arnold was calling himself stupid and a minute later Phil had watched him take Arnold's hand in his own. The kid had started silently crying, tears streaming down his face. Barton had leaned in and whispered something else to the kid and to his surprise Arnold had leaned up in the bed and given Phil an appraising look before letting out a little half-laugh.

 

Barton had turned to look at him too, mouth twisted in that little teasing smirk, his gaze traveling slowly up Phil's body from his outstretched legs to his face. It felt like a caress to Phil and he found himself shifting in the chair. Barton turned back to Arnold and whispered something else that had the kid nodding and laughing some more.

 

He watched as Barton tore a piece of paper out of the pad he'd been making notes on and passed it to the kid as he stood up. “That's got my numbers on it, work and personal. I don't have new cards yet, but you keep that and you can get me any time, day or night.”

 

“I will, Detective Barton, if I think of anything else.”

 

“Hey,” Barton said. “Not just if you think of anything else, OK? If you need to talk or need some help getting settled when they release you. Just call me.” He gestured toward Phil who had gotten to his feet and was heading toward the door. “Detective Coulson and I have made this top priority. ”

 

Phil made his goodbyes as well and they headed back into the hall.

 

Barton dropped into one of the chairs in the hall outside and let out a long sigh. “Can we? I need a minute.”

 

“Sure thing.” Phil dropped down in the empty chair beside him. “Are you all right?”

 

“That kid,” Barton started and then paused to let out a long exhale. “That kid went through hell, Phil. And he's blaming himself because he met up with this guy through some dating app.” He put his hands on his knees, bracing himself. “He didn't want to tell you about it because he thought you would blame him for being a stupid sub.”

 

Phil blanched. “God, I would never… he's the victim here. I've seen what this perp has done. Arnold in there is the third victim we _know_ about. If he's meeting subs online and making them feel like they're the ones to blame there may be more we don't know about.”

 

Barton nodded, “I wrote it all down, the site, his user name, password. We can get your tech lady to work on it when we get back to the office.”

 

“Skye can figure it out. I'll call ahead and have her start on the preliminaries when we get back to the car.” He gave Barton a long look. “If you're up to it, I think it would be a good idea for you to talk to the other two victims today too.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I was thinking that myself.'' Barton shrunk in on himself a little, crossing his arms across his chest, his eyes locking with Phil's. “I've been a cop for more than fifteen years, Phil. I started out on traffic patrol and have worked my way through just about everything except sex crimes. I'm good at it, you know. Maybe not the department politics crap, but I'm a good cop. But this shit, this sex crime shit. I don't know if I can listen to this stuff day after day.” He gestured toward Arnold's room. “I saw the files, the pictures, the forensic stuff. But seeing that kid in there blaming himself for what some sick fuck did to him...” He shuddered.

 

Phil realized then what it was that made up Barton's personality along with the flirtatiousness and the attitude.

 

Heart. Barton had heart.

 

Before he could think better of it, Phil slipped an arm around Barton's back and pulled him in for a one-armed hug. “Hey, it's all right.” He gently patted the other man's back, feeling Barton go stiff and then a moment later relax against Phil's body. “I'm not going to lie to you. Some days it sucks. Some days I think my mother is right and I should transfer to another division and leave all this behind. But, there are good days when you get to tell kids like Arnold that you caught the guy that did this. Days when you know you made a difference.”

 

Phil gave Barton one last squeeze on the shoulder before pulling away. He had to put a little distance between them before he let himself get too comfortable with how natural it felt to have Barton in his arms. “You made a difference today with Arnold. You were really spectacular in there. You got more out of that kid today than I have in the last four days put together. Heck, you even made him laugh.” Phil pulled a face. “Although I'm not sure I enjoy being the butt of whatever joke that was you told.”

 

Barton grinned at him then, a slow sexy smile that made Phil's heart beat a little faster. “Oh, it wasn't a joke. He was just checking you out. I was telling him there were a lot better ways to meet hot sexy doms than relying on some app.” He reached out and gave Phil's knee a squeeze. “After all, I met you on the job.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Clint sat in the car while Coulson called into the precinct with details of the suspect. It made sense to cross-check with any sex offenders on the system; Arnold Trevors had been too disoriented to pick up on many details, but the perp’s dark hair and large build narrowed things down at least a little.

 

Clint tried to centre himself. Arnold’s witness statement didn’t really hit home til after he left the room, and the brief hug Coulson had given him afterwards had almost left him more shaken up than he’d been before. It had been both too much and not nearly enough, and he’d broken the moment as quickly as he could.

 

“Ready to go?” Coulson asked as he got into the driver’s seat. He said it with a shade of concern in his voice, and Clint felt like if he asked, Coulson would probably take the lead on the next victim, or let Clint freak out for a minute before moving on. He felt like Coulson would accommodate him.

 

So of course, Clint turned and asked, “Do you wanna blowjob?” 

 

Coulson frowned and started the car. “Call me old fashioned,” he said, “but rape investigations don’t exactly get me in the mood.” 

 

He pulled out into traffic and Clint watched the way his jaw clenched. He wasn’t sure what he was even really gunning for, just more of Coulson’s solid arms around him. Or perhaps it was the fact that he wanted that gentle touch which made him push for more, push for Coulson to put him in his place like all the other asshole doms Clint had worked with in the past. “C’mon, Coulson. It’ll take the edge off.” 

 

“Right,” Coulson muttered before taking a deep breath. He reached over, and for one second Clint thought perhaps he had cracked through to him after all, and Coulson was going to squeeze his knee and then who knows what? But no, he merely turned on the radio and continued driving as traffic news filled the silence. 

 

As they drove,  Clint tried to forget about blowjobs and rejection, and instead read over the file on their next vic, a girl named Amy Marcello. All Coulson seemed to have gotten out of her in her first witness statement was that she couldn’t remember anything from the attack and that she didn’t want her family to find out. Clint sighed and closed the file. He could start with the vague description  Arnold had given them, perhaps it’d jog her memory. 

 

“Same deal as last time?” Coulson asked as they walked into the lobby of her well-to-do apartment building. 

 

Clint nodded. He felt like an asshole about the comment he made in the car earlier, and could feel Coulson holding back his easy charm. If only he could stop his stupid mouth from running all the time. Coulson seemed like a good guy, and sure, Clint would be more than happy to get on his knees for him but being an outrageous, inappropriate flirt was clearly not the way to go about that with this particular dom. No, Coulson was probably the type to draw out long contracts before so much as holding someone’s hand. Probably not interested in a quick fuck in an alleyway, which was more Clint’s style. 

 

“Let me know if you need any help,” Coulson said, not meeting Clint’s eyes as they travelled up in the elevator after speaking with the doorman. 

 

“Sure. And-“ Clint waited til Coulson looked at him, “I’m sorry? I uh,” he gestured vaguely, hoping to convey how the case was affecting him and making him act like more of a slut than usual.

 

Coulson’s cold gaze softened, and he reached out with one hand, dropping it before making contact. Clint wasn’t sure if he was relieved of disappointed. “I understand, it can be tough sometimes. We all have our own ways of coping.” 

 

Clint knew he was being given the benefit of the doubt and was grateful, though before he could say anything else, the elevator doors opened. 

 

*

 

Amy Marcello eyed them both warily when she opened the door, but instantly seemed to relax when Clint entered first. Coulson followed and just like in the hospital, after introductions he kept himself to himself and let Clint take the lead. 

 

The apartment was large and well furnished, no doubt paid in part or full by Amy’s family. In another life, Clint would have felt scornful of such a privileged existence.  

 

She was exactly the kind of sub that Clint would never be, the kind every dom wanted to collar.  She had delicate features, a slight build and the mannerisms that spoke of finishing school and etiquette lessons.

 

However, Amy was so shaken by her ordeal that Clint felt nothing but sorrow for her. That was one thing you learned as a cop: anyone can be a victim, no matter what their circumstance. 

 

Clint led the conversation, sitting on a small couch beside Amy as Coulson worked on a tablet from an armchair near the window. She glanced over at him every now and again, til Clint whispered, “I can ask him to leave if you want?” 

 

She looked at Clint in surprise. “Really?” 

 

Clint shrugged. “Whatever makes you feel most comfortable.” 

 

For his part, Coulson didn’t look up from his tablet, even though he could clearly hear them talking about him. Clint felt a surge of appreciation for the man, and realised he was smiling when Amy smiled too. 

 

“No, it’s ok, as long as you’re here.” 

 

With Clint’s gentle coaxing, Amy opened up, though her story didn’t match that of Arnold’s. They had both used the same app to look for a relationship, but Amy had only met up with female doms, and her last date had been a couple of days before her attack. Her memory of the incident was as hazy as Arnold’s, though she couldn’t say for certain that it wasn’t a man that had carried it out. 

 

Her last memory before finding herself wandering the street and walking into the police station was of leaving work and getting on the subway home. She couldn’t remember anyone talking to her, or any strange customers coming into the gallery where she worked, nothing at all out of the ordinary other than a hazy memory of flowers. 

 

She gave Clint the details of the last few people she’d met up with from the app, but insisted they’d been nothing but pleasant. None of them had graduated to anything physical yet beyond some kneeling and things like hair stroking and praising from one particular dom, who she’d been messaging the day of the attack.

 

It was the same story with Arnold, a series of very nice dates with very nice people and then a brutal attack seemingly out of nowhere. It wasn’t as if the victims were into rape-play or heavy scenes that might have gone wrong somewhere down the line. As far as Clint could tell, both Amy and Arnold were more interested in submission and service rather than having any particularly masochistic tendencies. Perhaps their chatlogs from the app would reveal more; Clint had dealt with enough people to know that even on the stand they don’t usually admit to everything they want in a relationship, sexual or otherwise. 

 

“Sorry I can’t be more help,” she said softly after Clint had pressed once more for anything else she might be able to tell him. “And I’m sorry to have put you both to so much trouble.” 

 

“Hey, no, it’s no trouble at all, Amy,” Clint reached out to hold her hand and squeeze it gently. “This is our job. What you’ve just told us might crack this case wide open. All this,” he tapped his notepad where he’d noted everything down, “is incredibly important. You’ve done a great job today.” 

 

She didn’t look convinced, and Clint glanced over at Coulson again, hoping he might come over and lend a hint of authority to Clint’s sentiment. As if on cue, he looked up and gave them both a warm smile. “Detective Barton’s right, Amy. You’ve really done well today. I know this is hard work, but we both appreciate everything you’ve told us. Good job.” 

 

Amy smiled nervously and looked pleased with the praise. Clint was too busy writing his number down on another page to think about how much he liked the sound of Coulson thanking someone like that. Plenty of time for that at home.

 

“He seems nice,” Amy whispered, giggling when Clint smiled in surprise at her. A little authority can go a long way with some subs, and Amy seemed to be no exception. The partnership of one dom and one sub in the force was a no-brainer as far as Clint was concerned, and he flashed a grin in Coulson’s direction.

 

“He’s not bad, is he?” Clint whispered back, and they laughed some more. 

 

*

 

“Let’s go back to the station,” Clint suggested once they were waiting to pull back into traffic. “See if we can chase up the people behind...” he held up his notepad with the name of the app taking up one page and circled a half dozen times, “SubBuzz.” 

 

Coulson nodded. “Good call. I want to see what these doms said to Arnold and Amy, see if there’s anything that connects them, or see if they talked to the same people at all. Wouldn’t hurt to go cross reference the vague description we got from Arnold with doms that are looking for a relationship, either.” 

 

“Yeah,” Clint agreed. “maybe start the ball rolling on getting a warrant if they don’t wanna play ball. People are really serious about privacy, can’t imagine they’re gonna be happy about us poking around in their stash of chatlogs and what have you.”

 

“Hmm,” Coulson agreed, signalling to turn before pulling up in front of a diner. “I’m gonna run in and grab something to eat at my desk. What do you want?” 

 

Clint eyed the place warily. “To not get heart disease before I’m 40?” 

 

Coulson rolled his eyes and Clint grinned. “They do great pie, Barton.” 

 

“Pie it is then,” Clint called out as Coulson got out of the car. “See if they can put the cholesterol on the side.”

 

He laughed to himself as Coulson walked away, muttering under his breath. It was a good opportunity to check out his ass again, and Clint subconsciously licked his lips. This was getting to be a problem. Clint sat back in his seat and sighed. The whole brattish “don’t you wanna put me in my place?” thing was a useful tool for seeing just where a dom’s boundaries lay, but it just wasn’t happening with Coulson.

 

Usually by this point, Clint would have been at the very least shoved up against a wall and told to behave. And he’d never known another dom to flat out refuse a blowjob, regardless of what case they were meant to be working on. Clint imagined it, pictured Coulson looking down on him and waiting for Clint to say please before slowly sliding his cock across his lips. He’d tease him with it, letting Clint lick drops of precome from the very tip of his dick before inching slowly forward and filling him up. He was probably huge, Clint thought, imagining himself choking on it as he persevered, determined to take the whole thing, laying on his back and opening up his throat so that he could take it all. And Coulson would probably spend the whole time saying just how great Clint was, how perfectly good, how wonderful… 

 

Clint jumped when a car honked nearby, realising with a start that his cock was traitorously erect, an unmistakably hard length in the front of his tight jeans. He scrambled to grab the notebook off of the dash to cover his lap with as he saw Coulson backing out of the door of the diner with his hands full of food. Jesus, Clint, he thought to himself. There’s a time and a place.

 

“You ok?” Coulson asked as he opened the door, passing paper bags through to Clint before getting in himself. “You look a little flushed.” 

 

“I’m fine,” Clint lied, opening the bags and wondering at the heap of food Coulson had bought. “The hell is in here? Are you feeding the whole precinct?” 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Back at HQ, Clint discovered that, despite being incredibly unhealthy, Coulson did know good pie when he ate it. And good cheeseburgers. And onion rings. 

 

When they were both done eating, Clint laughed as he surveyed the various empty containers strewn about their desks. “Please tell me you don’t eat that every day.” 

 

“Not every day, just special occasions.”

 

“Oh?” 

 

“Your first day. Well, your official first day, anyway.” Coulson smiled, and Clint didn’t know what to say to that. 

 

“Coulson!” said a voice from the doorway of the office. They both turned and Clint saw Phil’s face light up as a young woman with long dark hair came in. She held up a sheaf of paper. “SubBuzz. Not playing ball at all. Saying we need a warrant, yadda yadda. I could probably hack in if you want-”

  
Coulson took the papers from her and shook his head, clearly used to her going above and beyond. “That won’t be necessary just yet, Skye, but thank you. Oh, this is my new partner, Clint Barton. Clint, meet the head of our tech division, Skye.” 

 

Clint shook the hand she held out. “Head of division?” He was impressed.

 

Skye scoffed. “Coulson’s full of crap, the ‘tech division’ is pretty much just me and my laptop.”

 

“Which you’ve legally deputised in the state of New York,” added Phil.

 

“Well, _of course_. Anyway, nice to meet you, Clint. Phil, just let me know if you want me to put my hacker hat on and I’ll get right to it. The warrant stuff is already on May’s desk, she said she’d let you know if and when.”

 

“Any idea of a timeframe?”

 

Skye shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. For what it’s worth, I don’t think they’re being shady, I think they’re just, y’know, looking out for the people who use their services. Dating apps have all sorts of adulterers and whatever on ‘em. Getting investigated by the cops doesn’t exactly get you a good rating on the app store. Those printouts are all the chatlogs I could pull from Arnold Trevors’ account and the profiles of all the people he talked to. The ones on top are the ones he actually planned to meet. I’m working on the other girl... Amy? I also took the liberty of looking for the third vic on a hunch, but nothing’s come up yet.”

 

“That’s the first question we’re gonna ask our vic this afternoon,” Clint said.

 

“Thank you Skye,” Phil flipped through the papers before handing them to Clint. “Anything else of note?” 

 

“Well, the site caters specifically to subs and doms who are into pretty soft stuff. Light spanking is about the heaviest anyone goes on their profiles. It’s more for people wanting companion type relationships, service rather than punishment, you know. I didn’t go through all the chats Arnold had yet, but his profile was pretty clear about what he _didn’t_ want.”

 

Clint looked at the first sheet in his hands, which had Arnold’s SubBuzz profile on it, reading out loud, “No bondage, no penetration, no blades… This reads like his initial intake form.”

 

Skye nodded. “Someone knew exactly what Arnold didn’t want, and then made it happen.” 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

They finished up the afternoon with a visit to the last known sub victim. Phil and Clint stuck to what was working, with Phil making introductions and then trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible as Barton did the questioning.

 

This sub, George Hinson, had actually been the first one attacked and he wasn't able to add much that they hadn't learned from Arnold and Amy. Under Barton's gentle questioning he's confirmed that, yes, he had been using SubBuzz to meet potential doms. No, he wasn't into heavy pain play or rape fantasies, but more service and pleasure submission. He had chatted with several doms through the app but had only met one in person and that had been the day of his attack. Like Amy, he was sure that the dom couldn't have been involved.

 

Phil watched as once again Barton gave Hinson all his contact information and promised that his case was top priority. Again and again throughout the day, Barton had surprised him. Beneath all the flirtatiousness was a damn fine cop and Phil didn't think he'd ever seen anyone with such a knack with victims. He would be a wonderful asset to SVU if the constant onslaught of graphic violence from the type of cases they handled didn't burn him out.

 

Phil said as much as they climbed back into the department sedan at the end of the day. Barton had been quiet, too quiet, on the way back to the car. “I know this is a hard case to handle right out of the gate.”

 

He cranked the car but didn't pull away from the curb, studying the man beside him. Barton was slumped down in his seat, looking at his hands. He looked a little lost, like a day of victim interviews had dragged him somewhere he didn't want to go in his head. “You did really good today. I've been in this job a long time and I know how hard it is to get victims to open up. You've got a gift,” Phil lifted a hand but stopped himself before he gave into the urge to pat Barton's shoulder.

 

Barton looked up at him then, “Thanks, I… I guess I needed to hear that more than I thought.” He gave Phil a sad little half smile. “I want to find the bastard who did this.”

 

Phil nodded. “We will. You've done more to move this case along in the past twenty-four hours than I have in the month since Hinson got attacked. First the barbed wire and now we've got a solid direction to go in with SubBuzz.” He pulled into traffic and headed back toward Barton's apartment building. “Tomorrow we can talk to the doms that our subs went out with before the attacks. See if we get a vibe off one of them. I'll put in a call to Fury and see if he can spare May and Wilson to speak to some of the other doms that our subs either chatted with or dated. By the time we get back to the office the warrant should have come through and we can see if there's something beyond chatlogs that SubBuzz can provide to us.”

 

Barton called in the new information during the drive, finally hanging up and turning back to Phil when he was done. “Skye has the username and passwords for all three victims. She says she can have a list of their contacts complete with phone numbers and addresses for us in a few minutes. She'll forward it all to your tablet so we’ll be good to go in the AM.”

 

A glance at his watch showed it was almost 7pm. “Good. I'll keep the car out tonight and pick you up tomorrow at eight?” Phil made it a question instead of a command, rolling to a stop in front of Barton's apartment building.

 

“Sure thing, Phil,” Barton said, reaching for the door handle. “But don't bring breakfast tomorrow, I'll take care of it.”

 

“You don't have to do that, Barton.” Phil said quickly, not wanting him to feel obligated just because Phil had brought coffee and donuts

 

“Call me Clint. And I want to,” he waggled his eyebrows. “Since a blow job's off the table,” he paused for a minute giving Phil a slow sexy smile. “It is still off the table, right?” At Phil's curt nod, he continued. “I'll have to use my fallback coping mechanism. Baking.” He slipped out of the car with a little wave.

 

*

 

Fury called before he made it home and Phil filled him in on the new developments. Then, as Phil knew he would, Fury turned the conversation to Clint.

 

“What's your take on him?”

 

Phil considered the question as he let himself into his apartment, “He's good, Nick. Maybe the best I've ever seen with the victims.” He told Nick all about how Clint had managed to pull information from the subs. “It was pretty amazing to see.”

 

“But?” Nick pressed. “Why do I think there's something you're not telling me?”

 

Phil paused for a moment. “Are you asking as my captain or as my friend?”

 

“Does it matter?”

 

“Well, my captain's kind of an asshole and my friend is mostly not.” Phil answered drily.

 

Nick barked out a laugh. “Okay, as your friend then. Something else going on?”

 

“He, uh, offered me a blowjob.”

 

“And how was it?

 

“You know I'd never...” Phil sputtered.

 

Nick sighed, “I know you'd never, although I'm not sure why. It's not against regs. He's single, you're single. He's not even my type, Cheese, but even I know he'd look awful pretty on his knees. Hell, I’m 90% sure May and Wilson have been banging since about two seconds after they met.  If anything, it’s made them work better together.”

 

“You know why, Nick.” Phil said quietly.

 

“Yeah, I know why. Listen Phil, what happened with Ward was not your fault. Hell, I don't even know how he passed the psych evaluation to get in the academy. Ward had problems that nobody picked up on and the last place he needed to be working was SVU. With the abuse he went through as a kid he didn't need to be surrounded by this shit every day. He latched on to you and you took him under your wing. He's the one who had this imaginary relationship with you built up in his head.” Nick huffed out an exasperated breath. “You gotta give up the guilt, man. Your rejection didn't cause Ward to do what he did, that was a lifetime of pain trying to find a way out.”

 

“Can we not do this tonight? I'm beat.” Phil said finally. Between Nick and Natasha it was like listening to a broken record.

 

“Get some rest. I'll get May and Wilson on those interviews tomorrow.” Just like that, Phil was talking to his Captain again.

 

*

 

Phil resolutely did not think about Barton's - no _Clint'_ s – offer of a blow job as he threw together a quick dinner. He didn’t even want to imagine the look of disgust Clint would give the Hungry Man dinner he microwaved. Clint probably survived on broiled chicken breasts and broccoli. He traded text messages with Natasha and emails with Skye while he ate his supper, lining up his plan for the next day.

 

After letting his food settle, Phil changed clothes and put in a couple of miles on the treadmill while watching DVR’d episodes of Supernanny. He'd learned over the years that something like bad reality TV helped him push all the horror of his job out of his head after a hard day. Remembering Clint's comment about sugar and grease, Phil added in a few sets of pushups, squats and crunches after his run. Judging by how well his clothes fit in all the right places, Clint worked out a lot.

 

A _lot_.

 

His ass alone reflected god only knew how many squats and lunges. Phil might be a professional, but Clint favored tight jeans and Phil would have to be blind not to notice how well Clint filled them out. The fact that Clint seemed to _want_ Phil to notice made it even harder for Phil to resist.

 

That was a dangerous path to let his thoughts wander down, but Phil couldn't quite reign his imagination in as he stripped out of his sweaty clothes and got in the shower.

 

Clint was compact and muscular, not willowy like the current sub fashions dictated. Phil had never understood the appeal of the waif-like subs that looked like a good breeze would blow them over. Clint was all hard muscle, not a hint of softness about him anywhere. The idea of someone with Clint's strength giving his submission to Phil was a sweet temptation. The thought of all that power and strength bending to his will, Clint's gorgeous body his to stroke and caress and control...

 

Phil gave in, leaning against the shower wall as he slowly soaped himself up, his hand stroking over his hardening dick. For all his outrageous flirting, he bet Clint was one of those subs who went quiet and serious when he was being dominated. He thought of Clint, stripped down to nothing but bare skin, on his knees, head bowed, waiting to follow Phil's every command.

 

Phil had glimpsed the sweet side of Clint already, saw how readily he went from rigid to relaxed when Phil put his arm around him. He'd noticed how just a few kind words made Clint stand up straighter, like a flower seeking the sun. God only knew how beautifully he would respond if Phil gave him all the praise he deserved, told him what a good good boy he was.

 

He tightened the hand around his cock and stroked faster, imagining Clint watching the movements of his hands with those beautiful kaleidoscope eyes. Waiting for permission to touch, his lips parted, skin flushed. Phil would tease him first, stroking himself with one hand and using his other to slide along Clint's cheek, telling Clint how beautiful he looked.

 

Phil would press his thumb against Clint's bottom lip, pushing his lips open so that he could slowly feed the length of his dick into Clint's mouth. He imagined Clint's mouth around him, open and willing, letting Phil stroke into him, holding perfectly still until Phil finally told him he could move.

 

He would lean forward, that pink tongue flicking out to swipe along the head of Phil's cock, lightly sucking and then harder, like his whole world had narrowed down to worshiping Phil's dick. Lips soft and slick, mouth sucking him down, the soft moans he would make as Phil started thrusting into him, his dick pushing against the back of Clint's throat. Phil was big, his cock both long and thick and he knew Clint would have to strain to take him all.

 

Clint's mouth would be stretched impossibly wide, eyes watering, breath coming in soft little pants. He'd be beautiful doing it, swallowing Phil down.

 

That image did him in, Phil coming hard into his fist with a groan. He rested against the shower wall for a long moment, body still shuddering from his orgasm.

 

Clint Barton was getting under his skin. Phil had known him less than forty-eight hours and already he had broken his own rule about fantasizing about subs he worked with.

 

He banged the back of his head against the wall with a thud. Maybe he needed to take Natasha up on her offer to set him up with one of the subs she worked with. Anything to get his mind off Clint so he didn't screw up their working relationship.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Clint was waiting for Phil on the curb the next morning, a large bag in one hand. He was wearing the leather jacket again, another pair of jeans and a dark green sweater that picked up the flecks of green in his eyes.

 

“Hey Phil,” he said as he climbed in the car and fastened his seatbelt. “Did you miss me?”

 

Phil rolled his eyes. “I counted every second we were apart.”

 

Clint grinned, digging into the bag. “Aww, I bet you say that to all the boys.” He passed Phil something that smelled delicious all wrapped up brown paper. “Breakfast is served.”

 

Phil unwrapped a huge chocolate chip muffin and eyed it doubtfully. “This is better for me than a donut how exactly?”

 

“Just taste it, wise guy.” Clint pulled two insulated travel mugs out and passed one to Phil. “And this is to wash it down with.”

 

Phil tried the coffee first. It was just how he liked it, sweet and with a generous shot of cream. The muffin was even better, a dense concoction of banana and chocolate. “Jesus, that's good.”

 

“And good for you,” Clint said. “Dark chocolate chips are full of antioxidants, I used overripe bananas instead of sugar to sweeten it, and whole wheat flour and a little protein powder thrown in for good measure. Much better for you than a donut.”

 

“Tastes pretty good too,” Phil admitted. “Thanks. You're quite the baker.”

 

Clint gave him that slow smile again, the one that Phil was starting to recognize as a precursor for Clint's flirting. “I suck cock even better than I bake, Phil. You might want to keep that in mind.”

 

Phil shook his head as he pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic. It was going to be another long day.

 

 

*

 

The first name on their list was Franklin Delacorte, the dom that had met up with Arnold Trevors shortly before he was attacked. He was a tax attorney at a posh law firm in Midtown and Phil hadn't bothered to call ahead to make an appointment. In his experience, giving an attorney - whether victim, suspect, witness, or person of interest - a heads up was just asking to be buried in paper work.

 

“How we doing this?” Clint asked as they rode up in the elevator. Delacorte's firm took up the top floor of a highrise.

 

“Let me take the lead on this,” Phil replied. “The guy likes his subs on the sweet and innocent side if Arnold is an example of his taste. So, it'll probably go better if you come off as the shy retiring type. I wish you'd met Fitz, Hill's partner, he comes off as adorably awkward and he'd be a great one for you to imitate in cases like this.”

 

Clint leaned back against the elevator wall and gave Phil an appraising look. “So this Fitz guy, is he more your type? You go for the blushing virgin type sub?”

 

Phil pinned him with his gaze, “I prefer my subs to know what they're doing. I would rather focus my patience and energy on taking him down and keeping him there.” He answered before he could think better of it, and immediately wished he'd kept quiet when he saw the delighted little smirk on Clint's face.

 

“Noted and appreciated, Sir.”

 

Shit, the way Clint said _Sir_ , Phil could almost visualize the capital S. He could imagine Clint saying it in response to one of Phil's commands as he strained against silk bindings, his body Phil's to control.

 

The elevator dinged their arrival and Phil spent the next ten minutes arguing his way into Delacorte's office with his badge in his hand. Clint followed at his heels, making seemingly sincere apologies for Phil's behavior.

 

Delacorte was a handsome man, about Phil's age. He had sandy blonde hair and brown eyes and wore a suit that made Phil's not so shabby wardrobe look like a Goodwill cast-off. He gestured them to a small table in the corner of his office and waved away his secretary.

 

Phil gave him a moment to get settled and then went straight to it. “I'm Detective Phil Coulson. This is my partner, Clint Barton.” He tossed a card on the table in front of Delacorte. “I need you to tell me everything you know about SubBuzz and all your interactions with Arnold Trevors.”

 

Delacorte examined the card, turning it over in his hands. “Special Victims Unit? You know, of course, that I can refuse to talk to you without counsel present.” He glanced at Phil briefly and then let his eyes flit over to Clint where they lingered.

 

Clint gave Delacorte a shy smile that made something in Phil's gut clench.

 

“But Arnold was a lovely young man and I've been a bit worried that he hasn't responded to my messages since we met. Something’s happened?” Delacorte phrased it as a question, directing his words at Clint.

 

“Why don't you stop mentally undressing my partner and give me your attention? He's not interested.” Phil rapped his fist against the table. “How about you give me the information I asked for,” Phil said. He leaned forward, moving deliberately into Delacorte's personal space. He held the other man's gaze, “That would be a great way to show us just how concerned you are about Arnold.”

 

“Ahh, that's the way of it, then,” Delacorte said.

 

Phil knew the guy was implying that Phil and Clint were more than just work partners. Instead of correcting him, he draped one arm across the back of Clint's chair and raised an eyebrow at Delacorte. _Marking my territory,_ he thought briefly before pushing the thought away. He'd go with whatever worked to get Delacorte's attention back where it belonged.

 

Delacorte cleared his throat, “Yes, well, anything that might help if Arnold’s in trouble.” He paused a beat, clearly waiting for Phil or Clint to volunteer some information. When neither spoke he began to talk.

 

Delacorte had used SubBuzz several times over the last few months and corresponded with half a dozen subs who seemed to have compatible interests. He'd met with three of them in person and had only scened with one, and that hadn't been Arnold.

 

“It got a bit odd,” Delacorte explained as he described the sub he'd scened with. “On the front end it looked like we'd be a good match but he started asking for things that I wasn't prepared to give.” He shook his head. “He wanted to be hurt, badly. That's not what I look for in a sub. It's not something I'm interested in giving. I ended up calling a stop to it and we went our separate ways. He tried to contact me through SubBuzz a few times after that but I ignored him, and after a week or two I didn't hear anything more from him.” His description of the young sub was vague. “I do remember that he had a beautiful dick, but I didn't pay much attention to the rest of him.”

 

Delacorte smiled at Clint again like he was wondering what Clint's dick looked like. Phil kind of wanted to punch him in the mouth. Instead he let his arm trail off the back of Clint's chair until it was resting across Clint's shoulder blades, skin warm even through the layers of fabric they were wearing. In response, Clint dropped his eyes and leaned into Phil's touch.

 

“What about Arnold,” Phil asked. “You met up with him but you didn't play?”

 

“Didn't Arnold explain that?” Delacorte asked, seeming puzzled,  but unable to take his eyes off the pair of them, the way Phil touched Clint and the way Clint seemed to silently purr at the contact .

 

“Explain what?”

 

“Well, after that first meet up that went badly I decided that I wouldn't play with anyone until we got to know each other a little better. Arnold and I met for drinks, but that was it. I think he was surprised that I didn't try to move things further along but we talked about meeting again in a few days for dinner so he seemed okay with the wait.” Delacorte looked troubled, “I thought he'd changed his mind when he didn't respond to my messages.”

 

Phil exchanged glances with Clint, waiting for his confirming nod before speaking. “Arnold was attacked the night you met for drinks. I won't go into details, but he's still in the hospital.” He slowly withdrew his arm from around Clint and pushed back from the table. He still didn't like Delacorte but the man had been helpful after his initial posturing and Phil didn't think he was the attacker.

 

He offered his hand to Delacorte as all three of them rose from the table, “Thanks for your cooperation.”

 

Delacorte shook Phil’s hand and then extended his hand to Clint, holding onto Clint's hand just a shade longer than necessary. “I hope I was helpful. Feel free to send Detective Barton back anytime with questions. If I think of anything I'll be glad to give him a call. Do you have a card, Detective Barton?”

 

Phil frowned. “You can pass any information on directly to me, Delacorte. You have _my_ card.” He stepped between them. _You're being an ass,_ Phil thought, but he couldn't stop himself. “We work closely together, very closely. If you need to reach him, you can go through me.”

 

He spent the short walk to the elevator trying to come up with what he could say. He'd have to apologize to Clint for – shit, for acting like he was Clint's dom. He had no right.  He'd let Delacorte believe Clint was his. Hell, he'd put his hands on Clint.

 

The elevator was blessedly empty when they got on. Phil waited for the doors to close and then turned to face Clint, still not sure exactly what to say.

 

Turned out he didn't have to say anything because he suddenly found himself pressed back against the elevator wall with his arms full of very affectionate Clint Barton.

 

“Fuck,” Clint said against Phil's neck. “That was the hottest thing I've ever seen.” He licked a stripe up Phil's throat. “I thought you were going to whip your dick out for a second there and really stake your claim.” He put his hands on Phil's hips and pulled him forward.

 

Phil could feel Clint's erection rubbing against him, hard and heavy through Clint's tight jeans and Phil's thin suit pants. In the back of his head, there was a voice saying he should really put a stop to this but Clint's voice was in his ear: “I want to suck you so bad. I want you to fuck my face until my lips are swollen from it and I can taste your come.”

 

Phil let out a groan and muscled Clint across the elevator until _his_ back was against the wall, his mouth surging forward to meet Clint's. His hands came up to cup Clint's face, holding him still while Phil learned his mouth, sucking his bottom lip and licking inside until Clint was making little desperate noises and rutting against him. Phil was achingly hard, his thighs on either side of Clint's so they could press together.

 

Clint's hands were still on his hips, pulling Phil forward even as Clint ground against him.

 

Phil didn't even hear the ding of the elevator as they reached the lobby and the doors slid open. He was focused solely on the man pressed up against him, the hard planes of muscle of Clint's chest and thighs.

 

“Well, I never!” Somebody gasped, and then Clint was letting go and pushing Phil back.

 

There was an elderly woman gaping at them from outside the elevator.

 

“Sorry, sorry.” Clint said, grabbing Phil's hand and pulling him out into the lobby. “Got a little carried away there, ma'am.” He sounded breathless, his voice low and husky.

 

“I should say so, young man.” The woman hurried into the elevator, jabbing at the buttons.

 

Phil let himself be led halfway across the lobby before he pulled his hand free and came to a stop.

 

What the hell had he been thinking? What had Clint been thinking?

 

Clint turned to face him, and Christ he looked good. His face was flushed, his lips kiss-swollen. Despite himself, despite everything that told him this was a bad idea, Phil wanted.

 

God, how he wanted.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“My place is closer,” Clint panted as Phil pushed him back against the car and kissed his way down his neck. He fumbled for the door handle with one hand and squeezed Phil’s ass with the other before giving up on and just grabbing for Phil’s crotch instead. “Fuck, I can’t wait to suck you,” he said, feeling along the length of his hard cock beneath his pants. “Want you to fuck my throat,” he added, searching for Phil’s eyes to make sure he knew just how serious Clint was being. Phil paused and drew back enough for Clint to see the unadulterated lust in his expression as he nodded.

 

But then he blinked, and then he went wide-eyed and shook his head. 

 

“Fuck,” he said, taking his hands off of Clint’s waist to take Clint’s hands off of him. He remained pressed right against Clint though, and Clint hoped against hope that this wasn’t going to be over before it had even really begun. Phil’s face crumpled. “Fuck, Clint, I’m sorry. This is… I’m sorry.”

 

“What?! No! Coulson. Phil? _Sir_?” Clint reached for him as he started to move away. “Don’t be sorry, this is great. Come on!”

 

Phil wouldn’t meet Clint’s eye as he backed away around the car to the driver’s side. “Get in, I… I need to tell you something.”

 

“The fuck,” Clint muttered as he ducked inside the car. “Don’t tell me you don’t want me all of a sudden,” he continued once they were both inside. He glared at Phil’s obvious arousal and the man took a deep breath. “What’s going on? Take me home and fuck me, man!”

 

“Clint — _Barton_ ,”  he corrected himself. He glanced up at met Clint’s eyes, but they looked guilty now, haunted. “Whether or not I want you is beside the point. I’m your _partner_.”

 

“So?” Clint spat. “There’s no rule against it.” 

 

“The last partner I got personally involved with tried to kill himself.” 

 

Clint gaped. “What?” 

 

Phil looked at the keys in his hands and sighed. “Grant Ward. I don’t know if you heard about it but he, well. He almost died.”

 

Clint remembered hearing about Ward: a high achiever who made Detective practically right out of the academy and then went off the deep end a few years later. He’d never met the guy but he was a cautionary tale around the force for trying to do too much too quickly. “Detective Ward was your partner?” 

 

Phil nodded. “I let our… relationship turn into something that it shouldn’t have been.” He turned to look at Clint. “Nothing much happened between us, but one day there was a kiss and, hell, I should never’ve let it get that far. But it did, and Ward didn’t take it well when I put a stop to it.”

 

Phil - no, Clint had better think of him as Coulson now - looked so defeated. Clint ached to reach out and touch him, hold his hand or put an arm around his shoulder to make him feel at least a little bit better, but suddenly that didn’t seem like such a great idea. Crap, he’d been such an asshole and he hadn’t even realised it.

 

“After that, I promised myself I wouldn’t ever let anything like that happen again.“

 

“Coulson, I’m not gonna fuckin’ try to kill myself. Fuck, I feel like such a dick, I had no idea.” Coulson looked as though he was trying to work out if Clint was kidding around. “I’m not saying I don’t still totally wanna ride your dick, but yeah, I get it now.” It made a hell of a lot of sense actually: Coulson had obviously been at least vaguely interested from the get-go as far as Clint could tell, but seemed determined not to make a move, and it wasn’t just his by-the-book PC Mr Professional schtick that was holding him back. “I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” 

 

“If?” Coulson ruefully quirked the corner of his mouth and Clint offered a lopsided smile. It was so awkward, the two of them sitting there with slowly wilting erections. 

 

“I’ll ask you this once - well, once more, and then I swear I won’t ask again,” Clint started, biting his lip when Coulson looked suspicious. “If you want to, we can go to my apartment right now and burn this energy off with some no-strings get-it-all-out-of-our-systems meaningless sex. I do that kinda shit all the time and I’m genuinely suggesting it as an option to make this be way less awkward.” When Coulson’s forehead creased, Clint added: “ _Or_ , we can take that off the table and I’ll never ask you again, and I’ll… well I can’t promise not to flirt _ever_ but I can try not to flirt with you anymore.” 

 

For a moment, Clint thought Coulson might actually take him up on the no-strings idea, because he hesitated, but then he let out a breath and smiled.  "Listen, obviously I'm attracted to you…but even if I didn't have a rule against dating coworkers, I don't really do casual sex. So  I’d really like it if you didn’t ask me again.”

 

Clint nodded. “Deal. Maybe we can start over.” He stuck out a hand. “Clint Barton. Extremely professional, non-flirtatious and super-serious Detective, at your service.” He added a hopeful smile and was rewarded with one in return.

 

“Very pleased to meet you, Clint,” Phil said as he shook his hand. 

 

“If it’s all the same to you, Coulson,” Clint said, retrieving his hand and checking his watch as he reached for the door handle. “I might take the subway back to the precinct. See you back there at around 2?” 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

As soon as Coulson drove off, Clint found the nearest wall and rested his forehead against it. What in the hell? 

 

After collecting himself for a few minutes, he pulled his work phone out of his pocket and searched for ‘Grant Ward’ on the Police system. He was sure there was more to his story than Coulson had given him. It was clear from what he said that he blamed himself for what happened, and Clint needed to know the full story so he didn’t accidentally fuck up again. Ok, perhaps he wanted to know more because he just wanted to know how someone as calm and collected as Coulson could get involved with someone that ended up on the road to attempted suicide. 

 

The search revealed that Ward had entered the force after a tumultuous youth filled with abuse from his parents and his brother, juvie arrests and various substance charges. But once he’d joined up he’d blossomed into the perfect cop with an unblemished record til his suicide attempt a little under a year ago. Since then he had been implicated in a number of organised crime instances but nothing had stuck. “The hell happened to you, kid?” Clint muttered to himself as he scrolled through the other documents. 

 

He clicked through to the training report just to see if Ward’s marksmanship skills really were as high as he’d heard rumoured and then he stopped dead in his tracks. Ward’s SO had been John Garrett. 

 

Clint's eyes narrowed as he remembered his own run-ins with Garrett at his old precinct. The man had a way of pinpointing weaknesses in the subs he worked around and using them to his advantage. His endgame seemed to be breaking down any sub he could get his hands on with the sole purpose of getting off on it. Fuck, he'd been hard enough for Clint to deal with as a relative equal - he's always known just what buttons to push to trigger Clint's temper. The last time it had been bad enough that Clint had actually thrown a punch. Clint couldn't imagine what a mindfuck dealing with Garrett would have been for a kid with Ward's issues, fresh out of the academy.

 

Hmmm.

 

*

 

After eating a deli sandwich and reading over most of Ward’s file, Clint came back to the precinct with a spare wheatgrass juice as peace offering to find Coulson bending over his desk. He imagined some invisible jar of kudos getting a gold star added to it as he simply sat at his own desk and didn’t say anything whatsoever about Coulson’s beautiful ass.

 

“Did you eat?” Clint asked as Coulson sat down. 

 

“I had a donut,” he said sheepishly, and Clint laughed.

 

“I had a full card at the juice place so I got you this,” he held up the deep green drink and waited for Coulson to take it. “Superfood.”

 

Coulson eyed it suspiciously before taking it and then sipping it gingerly. Then he licked his lips as he visibly tried to work out how he felt about probably the first healthy thing he’d had, other than the homemade muffins Clint had brought in, in weeks. 

 

“That’s actually really nice,” he said in surprise. 

 

Clint stopped himself from saying something ridiculous like “I’ll tell you what else is really nice,” and just smiled before turning to his computer and checking his email.

 

*

Through the afternoon they visited the other doms on the list. Coulson still played the slightly possessive dom role, but Clint could tell it was to assert his status to the other doms rather than for Clint’s benefit. That didn’t really help his libido, though, and when Coulson rested a hand on the small of Clint’s back as they filed out of yet another nice office, he found himself mentally reviewing gruesome case files to will another traitorous erection away. 

 

Clint tried to focus on the positive. Hell, with his track record of shitty relationships (which usually ended with a humiliating reminder of what a bad sub he was) he should be grateful that Coulson wanted to keep it professional. Coulson actually seemed to value his opinion and skills as a cop, and surely that was better than the one and done fucks that Clint usually got from doms.

 

Changing his thoughts back to the case,  all of the doms they interviewed were upstanding citizens as far as their records went, and all had respectable, middling to high powered jobs. Each one of them seemed concerned for the victims, and Clint was fairly certain it wasn’t just put on, though one thing he had learned in his time in the force was that you can never truly tell. 

 

“So, every single one of them has an alibi,” Clint said as they got back in the car to head back to the office. The aura of sex had mostly worn away by this point, but Clint kept his files on his lap anyway just in case Coulson made a particularly sexy emergency brake. “Check ‘em out tomorrow?” 

 

Coulson pulled out into the flow of rush hour traffic. “I’ll write them up and send them to Darcy tonight. The system can take a while.” Darcy was a criminal justice major at NYU who interned in their department.

 

Back at the office, Coulson poured himself a coffee and got straight to work, leaving Clint a little lost. It was already 6.30pm. “You don’t have to stick around,” said Coulson, flipping through the notes Clint had taken throughout the afternoon as he waited for his computer terminal to spring to life. 

 

Clint thought about offering to help, worrying that his notes might need translation, not to mention the possibility that he might have let his mind wander and doodled things unrelated to the case while he’d been sitting quietly and letting the doms talk, but Coulson clearly wanted to work alone, so Clint stuck his hands in his pockets and made his way home. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next week and a half passed too fast. They caught a couple of new cases, thankfully minor, that were quickly resolved, but made little progress on the SubBuzz Case. After gaining access to the SubBuzz records via subpoena, they’d discovered that none of the three victims had interacted with the same doms on the site. The hope that they would be able to wrap the case up with a nice little bow around the neck of some deviant dom had pretty much died on the vine.

 

Clint - _Barton,_ Phil had to keep reminding himself - had been true to his word since the day Phil had told him about Ward and had been strictly professional. He still caught Clint giving him lingering glances, and more than once Clint had been mid-flirtatious comment and abruptly changed tone, but it was clear he was making an attempt to respect the clear boundaries Phil had established.

 

Even though he'd only known Clint a couple of days before he dropped the Ward bomb, Phil had secretly enjoyed anticipating what new outrageous bit of innuendo Clint was going to work into a conversation. It clearly came as naturally to Clint as breathing. He missed the feel of Clint's hard body pressed against his, his mouth open and pliant under Phil's, the way he'd submitted so sweetly and leaned into his touch when Phil had put his hands on him in back in Delacorte's office, the way Clint had eagerly pushed forward into his arms in the elevator.

 

Now, as Phil sat as his desk and watched Clint enter the squad room bearing the now familiar Tupperware container of goodies he brought from home every morning, Phil felt something in his stomach tighten. Clint was smiling at him, but Phil could tell the moment that Clint remembered he wasn't supposed to be smiling at him like _that_ because it went from the slow sexy smile that made Phil's heart beat faster to the cool distant smile that made Phil feel about a hundred years old.

 

And the truth was, he missed it. He missed the slow sexy smile, and the smirks, and the winks, and the deliberate lip-licking, and the way Clint looked up at him from beneath his eye lashes and bit his bottom lip, and told him how much he wanted to suck his dick. Or, what was it he had said that day in the car? Oh yeah, _ride_ _his dick_.  

 

As if that image hadn’t been seared into Phil’s brain and replayed over and over. The thought of Clint’s strong thighs straddling his, ass clamping down on Phil’s cock as Clint levered himself up and down seeking his pleasure, his no doubt beautiful dick hard against his belly. Phil had jacked off to that particular scenario about a dozen times the last few days, wondering what it would be like to look into Clint’s eyes and order him to come on command with Phil deep inside him.

 

Dammit, Phil shifted in his chair, aware that he was clenching his fist around a pen hard enough that his knuckles had gone white.  He started to look away from where Clint had stopped to lean against Sam Wilson’s desk; the two subs had developed a fast friendship. Whatever Wilson said had Clint throwing his head back and laughing, jerking the tupperware out of Wilson’s reach.  The tilt of his head exposed the line of his throat above the collar of his leather jacket. 

 

Phil wanted nothing more than to walk across the room and nuzzle his face into the tender skin there, breathing in the warm scent of Clint’s skin.  His half hard dick twitched in his pants and he was glad he hadn’t bothered to take off his suit jacket yet.

 

“Morning, Sir.” Clint set the Tupperware down on Phil's desk, and shrugged out of his jacket. “I baked last night, brought you some of my leftovers.” It was routine by now, Clint brought in something delicious from home every day and always seemed to have enough for Phil to share. After the third day in a row, Phil had stopped bothering to grab anything on his way into the office.  In deference to Phil’s sweet tooth, it had been mostly muffins and quick breads, but also a few homemade smoothies. Phil felt disgustingly healthier already.

 

“Thanks, I was just going to get coffee, I'll grab you some too.” Phil smiled and pushed back from the desk. The up close view of Clint in a dark blue v-neck sweater that clung to his shoulders and biceps made Phil want to do _very bad things_. He thought a quick retreat was in order.

 

Phil pointedly ignored Hill's, “You never get _me_ coffee, Phil,” as he walked by her desk with his and Clint's coffee cups.

 

*

 

“When are you going to put that boy out of his misery?” Nick was leaning in the doorway of the breakroom, nursing his own cup of coffee.

“Don't you start too.” Phil pushed past him. The break room was blessedly empty as he poured two cups of sludge and then liberally doctored his up  while leaving Clint’s black .

 

“I don't know how you can stand his big, sad eyes staring at you across the desk. You want to borrow my eye patch? Block at least half of it out?” Nick laughed at his own joke. “Shit, Phil, you two are already circling around each other like kids at a middle school dance. You glare if somebody so much as looks his way. I mean, really, you looked like you were going to draw down on the Fed-Ex guy yesterday because he was looking at your partner's admittedly fine ass. Meanwhile, Barton is about two seconds from dropping to his knees and putting his chin on your thigh right there in the middle of the squad room. And let's not even talk about how Betty Crocker is bringing you homemade meals like a good little sub. You sure you don't want to go out there and do a little hand feeding?”

 

Phil flushed, because yeah, maybe he'd had a passing thought or twenty about how beautiful Clint would look taking bites of food out of Phil's hand, his pink tongue flicking along Phil's fingers, chasing down every last crumb. “We’re not having this discussion.”  

 

“He’s right you know,” May was at the other door now, one artful eyebrow arched. “You’ve been dragging this Ward shit around and letting it mess with your head for way too long. If you’d met Barton anywhere except on the job he’d be kneeling at your feet by now.” As always, despite her tiny stature, Melinda May seemed to fill the room. She walked slowly to the coffee pot, the heels of her black boots clicking on the floor. “Your dynamics mesh beautifully, everyone can see it. Including you.”

 

“So now we’re having breakroom relationship interventions at SVU?” Phil asked. “Because I missed that memo. I think Cathy and Denise over in white collar are looking to add a third, should I send them in next?”

 

May filled her own cup and gave him a long look.  “Deflection doesn’t suit you, Phil.”

 

*

 

After breakfast, which was some sort of pumpkin cinnamon scone that tasted heavenly but Clint swore was healthy, they settled down to business.

 

“Two things,” Phil said as he led Clint into the small conference room they’d made an unofficial base of operations for the SubBuzz case. “I want to spend some time going back through the chatlogs together and I think we need to run with Skye's suggestion and submit our own dummy profiles to SubBuzz. I know we’ve gone through the chatlogs on our own, but maybe reading through them together after interviewing all the witnesses might make us pick up on something we missed before. As far as the profiles, we can do that on our own and see if something in the process triggers something that a dom looking for a particular type of victim might pick up on.”  

 

Phil pulled a chair out for Clint without noticing what he was doing until Clint blushed and muttered, “Thank you,” before sliding into the proffered seat. Jesus, Nick was a little too on the nose about Phil acting like he was Clint’s dom, he was pulling out his chair for him like they were on a date. “So, should we fill out the profiles from any particular angle?  I mean, you want me to do it with an eye toward baiting our guy?”

 

“No.” Phil slid into the chair beside Clint’s and handed him half the stack of papers. “I think we fill them out honestly, just like we were filling them out on our own, otherwise we skew the results. We’re not necessarily trying to snag the perpetrator this way, but just see if there’s something that might help us pinpoint his process.”  

 

He tapped the papers. “Since the dom angle has been a dead end so far, I want to make a run at it a different way.  We’ve been assuming that the victims had a dom in common, maybe one they’d rejected on the SubBuzz site. Nothing we’ve found had borne that out, so maybe it’s not a dom that the subs have interacted with but one that’s in competition with the other doms and frustrated that they aren’t attracting a certain kind of sub. These are copies of the chatlogs between Delacorte and the six subs he interacted with on the site. He only met with two of those subs in person, Arnold and,” Phil flipped through the pile of papers until he found the one he’d highlighted.  “This guy, username Live2Serve.”

 

Clint huffed out a laugh, “Not very original is he? Does Skye have a real name on the guy yet? I mean, even if we find something here we missed, it’s not like we’re going to get very far searching for the cheesy user name and, how did Delacorte describe him? Oh yeah, the dude with the beautiful dick.” The profile picture that went along with the username was basically useless, it showed a kneeling shirtless man with dark hair, his head bent so that only the top of his head and his well-muscled chest above a pair of dark jeans was visible.

 

Phil smiled, “Skye’s still working on it. Even though we’ve got access to the SubBuzz records, some of the emails and payment methods used to set up the accounts themselves are routed through some very privacy-conscious European countries. Between the three sub victims and the doms they actually met with and the subs and doms each interacted with, we’re up to a couple of dozen users. Skye says there are three accounts that are routed through these other countries that are going to take some creative use of her skills to crack.” Phil didn’t want to think just what that meant; the last time Skye got creative, Captain Fury got a visit from Homeland Security.  “I figure we can read it back and forth and see if anything stands out.”

 

“Sure thing, Sir.” Clint scanned the papers. “I assume you want me to be Live2Serve and you’ll be,” Clint smirked and waggled his eyebrows at Phil. “WellHung8. Guess the guy is packing.  You shouldn’t have any problem playing that -- oh,” Clint broke off, his face closing down.  “Sorry.” He looked down at the table, fiddling with the papers.

 

Phil scrubbed a hand across his face; Clint had gone from happy to looking absolutely miserable in the space of about five seconds. And it was Phil’s problem, not Clint’s. He was a flirt by nature and Phil had basically asked him to change his entire personality because Phil didn’t want to be tempted. The hell of it was that non-flirting quietly miserable Clint was apparently just as fucking tempting as flirting, audacious, offering to suck his dick every ten minutes Clint, because the last ten days or so of Clint on his best behavior had done absolutely nothing to lessen Phil’s desire to take him home and put him on his knees. 

 

It was all too easy to imagine how beautiful and eager to please Clint would be at the mercy of Phil's every whim.  Kneeling, holding position until his muscles were quivering, breath coming in fast little pants as he tried so very hard to be good for Phil. He could picture the sheen of sweat breaking out across that golden skin as Clint strained not to move while Phil tormented him in every delicious way possible.  Bending all that strength to his own will until Clint was begging for release…

 

Phil reached a hesitant hand out and settled it over Clint’s on the table, and Jesus even that little touch was enough to send a frisson of awareness through his body, straight to his cock. Clint’s hand went still under his, those amazing eyes coming up to meet Phil’s gaze. “Look, I know that I asked you not to… say things. But, it’s okay. I was so worried about not being uncomfortable that it’s making you uncomfortable and that’s making us both miserable. Don’t try to censor yourself. You’re a flirt. I’m a big boy, I can handle it. Let’s just...” 

 

Phil paused, licking his lips as he searched for just the right words. Clint was leaning in toward him and his gaze had dropped to Phil’s lips. He smelled fantastic, a little bit like cinnamon and leather. If Phil bent forward just a little bit, he could get a taste of Clint’s lips, see if his mouth still opened as sweetly for him as they had —

 

“Knock knock,” Skye stuck her head into the room and smiled widely when they both jumped apart.  “Am I interrupting something? Because you know this door locks, right?”  

 

Phil ignored the slow flush that was creeping up his cheeks,  “Did you need something Skye?  We were just getting ready to go over the chatlogs.”

 

“Sure. Chatlogs.” Skye nodded. “Actually, I was just dropping these packets off for you. I figured you would prefer to fill out your SubBuzz stuff on paper and then it'll be easier to set it up online. Plus, I need to get a couple of pictures for your profiles.” She gave them a once-over. “You,” she pointed to Clint, “will work as is.”

 

Yeah, Phil thought. Unsurprising. Clint was basically every dom’s walking wet-dream in his tight jeans and size-too-small sweater stretched over a body that was a work of art.  

 

She looked back at Phil. “I need you to lose the jacket and tie, open a couple of buttons and, hey, do you have those back up glasses in your locker for when you need a break from the contacts?”

 

Phil nodded, “I do, but… why do you even need our pictures, this is just for the--”

 

Skye waved him off. “I leave the detective-ing to you, you leave the computer stuff to me. I’m going to borrow your partner here for ten minutes and then I’ll be back for you. No jacket, no tie, open collar and glasses, got it?”

 

Clint stood up, “I guess I’ll be back in a few.” He smiled at Phil and rubbed the back of his neck. “I know we need to get through these chatlogs but maybe after, we can grab some lunch and finish this discussion?”

 

Phil nodded and let himself watch as Clint followed Skye out of the room.

 

 

*

 

Phil got a phone call on another case while Clint was gone and by the time he was finished and had endured Skye’s frankly ridiculous attempts at an impromptu photo shoot (really, “look smoldering” was not proper direction), more than an hour had passed. He didn’t bother to get back into his contacts or full suit before heading back to the conference room.

 

“Sorry, that took longer than I expected.” Phil slid back into his seat and grabbed the stack of chatlogs.  

 

Clint mumbled a greeting but didn’t look up, a glance showed that he’d spent the time starting to fill out the SubBuzz profile information packet. “Almost done here, just give me a minute.”

 

Phil really tried not to read Clint’s messy scrawl, but even the quick sidelong glance he’d made at the papers had been enough to see things like “cock warmer” and “praise kink” and “hand feeding” and “marking” and Jesus, “cock worship.” Yeah. Phil shifted in his seat. He was going to need a cold shower in about five seconds if he let himself think about any of those things in relation to Clint for too long.

 

He pushed his glasses back up his nose and wished he’d stopped and grabbed a bottle of water for his suddenly dry throat.  

 

“Okay,”  Clint shoved the papers back into the folder and looked up, “I’m rea-whoa.” He cleared his throat, “Skye was right. The uh, glasses are a good look. And the whole,” he waved his hand toward Phil. “Unbuttoned thing, the chest hair and forearms and… working.” His cheeks had flushed bright red and he seemed to be mesmerized by the exposed skin at the unbuttoned collar of Phil’s dress shirt. “Working.” He repeated.

 

Well, at least it seemed like Phil wasn’t the only one who needed a cold shower. Phil wasn't sure if that made things better or worse. He felt his own cheeks heat at Clint's frank admiration. “Thanks. Let's get to those chatlogs now.”

 

“Sure thing.” Clint said softly.  

 

“I think we can skip all the why does a nice sub like you need to sign up for a dating app stuff,” Phil paused, flipping through the pages. “Looks like even if it's just typing Delacorte likes to hear himself talk. Let's start on the fourth page. That's where they start discussing likes and dislikes.”

 

Phil read aloud from the chatlog. _“You say you love to serve, how would you like to serve me?”_

 

Clint read the next bit. _“I would be waiting for you when you came home, naked and on my knees. I would already have myself opened up for you to use me.”_

 

Phil shifted in his seat, this may not have been his wisest idea. _“I'd prefer you with a plug so I could fuck your mouth and have you full at both ends. When I got done with your mouth I'd take the plug out and fill you up with my cock.”_ He paused, swallowing, trying to catch his breath. _“Fuck you full of my come and then plug you back up so you kept every drop inside of you.”_

 

Clint let out a strangled little moan. _“No plug. I would want to walk around with your come dripping out of me with each step, so everybody could smell it and know that I was yours.”_

 

_“That's right. You'd belong to me.”_ Phil was desperately hard in his pants now, he couldn't help but imagine Clint all fucked out and loose and dripping with come. Clint parading himself through the precinct in come-soaked jeans so Rumlow and all those other dom fuckers knew Phil had staked a claim.

 

Clint flung the papers back down on the table and pushed his chair back. “I, uh, I need a second.” He bolted for the door.

 


	6. Chapter 6

The next few hours were the most sexually frustrating of Phil's life. Despite numerous breaks where one or the other called for a cooling off time-out, he'd basically spent most of his day reading the online version of Letters to Penthouse aloud with a sub he was very physically attracted to. The fact that Clint was just as affected only ramped up the sexual tension in the room.

 

Clint had been chewing on his lower lip so much that it was swollen and pink and Phil's shoulders were tight from clutching the arms of the chair in an attempt to keep from throwing caution to the wind, locking the door and acting out some of the vivid descriptions they'd been reading. They'd made it about two thirds of the way through the chatlogs and so far this whole thing had been nothing but an exercise in sexual frustration.

 

_“Make me come and then make me bleed. Make me hurt over and over.”_ Clint was saying. “Hey, didn't we --”

 

“Yeah,” Phil grabbed the stack of chatlogs they'd already been through. “This one, Live2Serve.” He flipped to the last page. Sure enough, right before Delacorte cut the chat short, the sub had used the same phrase. _“Make me come and then make me bleed. Make me hurt over and over.”_ It had been out of place in what had been a mostly pleasure centered chat up until that point. “And this is the guy that Delacorte met in person. The one he said went a little off the rails and started trying to get into heavy pain play even though that wasn't what Delacorte had agreed to.”

 

“The one we were just reading, it's a different username, ServingYou. And this one was chatting with the dom that met up with Amy Marcello.” Clint pulled the full profile out. Although it was a different user picture, it could be the same person. This one was also male and dark-haired, but the picture was made in profile, with most of the face lost in shadow. “He did the same thing here he did with Delacorte. She's into pleasure based subs and he's playing right into it and then suddenly talking about getting bloody and hurt.”

 

Phil felt something, a cold chill, start at the base of his spine. “Let's get through the rest of these. We can skim for now, look for anybody else using the same phrasing.”

 

It only took another half hour to weed their way through the remaining chatlogs at double speed. They ended up with a total of three different chatlogs that used the same phrase under three different usernames. The last one had chatted with the dom that George Hinson, the first sub victim, met with on the day he was attacked.

 

“So,” Phil took his glasses off, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “The three subs that used the same phrasing in the chats have to be the same guy. These are also the three accounts that Skye said were routed through other countries. We've got a dom posing as a sub, maybe? That doesn't -”

 

_“No._ ” Clint was emphatic. “You talked about a dom that was targeting subs that had rejected them. I don't think that's what's going on at all. We've got a sub that's targeting subs he sees as the competition. I know it's unusual, especially for the kind of violence this guy's been inflicting. But, Phil, our guy is another sub.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Clint offered to go up to Skye’s attic-space ‘office’ (in reality, it was more of a cubbyhole than an office, but it had a little sign, so who was Clint to argue?) and brief her on the similar subs. They had different names and their profiles had different locations, but it seemed from their desires and the phrasing used in the chats that they could very well be the same person. 

 

Skye raised her eyebrows at the highlighted phrases. “Do you want me to see if I can search for this phrase too? They might’ve used it in all these chats… could be a good place to start looking to see if he’s going after anyone else yet?” 

 

“Good call, yeah. But if you can get the IP first, that’d be great. We can go and talk to ‘em and hopefully bring ‘em in.”

 

“Will do.” She looked at Clint consideringly. “You ok? Is the case getting to you?” 

 

Clint raised his eyebrows. “I’m fine.” At Skye’s skeptical look he felt a blush rising up his neck. He did feel a little bit like he’d run a marathon. He’d willed away so many boners over the last few hours that he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to get it up again. Was he really so obvious, though? “Put it this way. Imagine having to play act other peoples’ sexts, but with the hottest person you’ve ever met in your entire life.” He blushed even harder and shook his head. “Forget I said anything. And don’t repeat that!”

 

Skye grinned and barely held in a laugh. She was probably gonna tell half the precinct now, Clint figured. Fuck his life. “Promise,” she said, putting a hand on her heart. 

 

 

*

 

“Skye’s cross-checking our suspect-slash-suspects-plural and said she can get us something tomorrow, hopefully. She also said she’ll check for that ‘make me bleed’ line and see if it gets picked up elsewhere.”

 

Clint looked out the window as he reported back to Coulson, because the man was sitting at his desk with his goddamn sleeves rolled up like it was nothing. When he made the mistake of glancing back at the man, Coulson was smiling at him from behind his glasses, and Clint had to look away again. His traitorous mind replayed Coulson telling him, _“gonna slide my cock into you so slowly you’ll feel every inch of it filling you up,”_ and barely suppressing a whimper as he dutifully replied, _“yes please, Sir, make me yours.”_

 

“Good work, Barton,” Coulson said in real life, and that was practically worse, because Clint was a sub after all, and having a dom who made him subconsciously want to drop to his knees on an hourly basis saying ‘good work’ to him was, yeah. It was certainly something.

 

“Thanks, Sir,” he choked out. He was going to jerk off when he got home. At least five times. Maybe then his cock would shut the hell up and let him do his job without constantly trying to get itself involved.

 

“Coffee?” Coulson asked, getting up and standing there, like he was trying to _make_ Clint run over and kneel by his feet. He was holding his special ‘I hate Mondays’ mug and Clint focussed on Grumpy Cat as he nodded. 

 

“Sure, thanks.”

 

Coulson bent over to pluck Clint’s mug off of his desk before going to the kitchen, and Clint closed his eyes to focus on mental snapshots of gory crime scenes to get himself under control. 

 

He sat at his desk and took a deep breath. Just another hour or so and he could go home, find the biggest dildo he could find and fuck all this sexual tension out of himself. It was hardly a perfect scenario - if he was smarter he could call up some old fuckbuddy or go pick someone up, but… Clint didn’t like that idea and didn’t want to examine just _why_ he didn’t like that idea right now.

 

“Here you go,” said Coulson, setting down Clint’s mug and taking his seat. He logged back into his computer and the suspects’ SubBuzz profile pictures took up most of the screen. Even zoomed in and brightened, there wasn’t much to make out. 

 

“Thanks. So, what now? Wait for Skye to find an IP? Go spook the guy?” 

 

Coulson sipped from his mug and shrugged. “I have a feeling that might be a bit of a wild goose chase. The fact that there’s three accounts - that we know about - makes me think this guy is aware that what he’s doing is wrong and that it’s eventually going to be investigated. Chances are, these profiles have been through a dozen proxies. And even if we did find the guy, there’s no guarantee we’ll be able to prove anything, or even connect him to the accounts.”

 

“So… we draw him out?” 

 

Coulson nodded. “I think that’s what we’re going to have to do.” 

 

 

*

 

After talking it over with Skye, Clint and Phil were both given packets containing their SubBuzz profile information. Clint opened his on the subway home; it was a mix of reality (height and appearance, etc) and things specifically catered to the mores of their suspect, gleaned from the common traits on the profiles of the doms and subs involved in the case. There was a post-it stuck to the top sheet from Skye, telling Clint to input it at home from his personal computer (not one registered to the precinct) and to fill in any blanks that weren’t covered with genuine information, since everything relevant was already covered by the stuff she’d added to the packet. 

 

After picking up some takeout, Clint sat at the kitchen table in his apartment and opened his ancient laptop, helping himself to some tom yum soup as he waited for it to boot up and connect to his downstairs neighbour’s wifi. 

 

“SubBuzz…” Clint muttered to himself as he typed it in, clicking through to the sub registration page, which promised to find him a dom that was suited to his every need. He panicked for a moment when it prompted him for a username, but Skye had added a page of potential usernames for him into the envelope of information. After a couple of attempts (ILove2Suck was taken), the rather depressingly generic MuscleSub245 became Clint’s username. He added the photos that were taken in the precinct, of him looking suitably submissive and alluring, and filled out the basic information with the info collated by Skye, like his fake name (Craig Bartley), the fact that he worked in Brooklyn rather than in Manhattan, and so on. 

 

The bare bones of his personal statement had been outlined by Skye, but she told him to write it in his own words, which was harder than Clint had expected. Eventually he wrote what he really did think, which was that he wanted to find a special someone to serve; someone he could give pleasure to and who would give him pleasure in return -- once he’d earned it. He thought about going into more detail, but clicked through to the next page to find that pretty much every kink, sexual or otherwise, was detailed on the site, and he just had to give each one a rating out of five.   

 

He'd filled out some of the preliminary questions at the station so the first part was simple enough, just trying to rank his kinks within SubBuzz's format.  On the one hand, that was easy. On the other, it meant Clint spent nearly an hour squirming in his seat as he envisaged Phil Coulson on the other end of each one of the plainly detailed terms. 

 

‘Cock worship’ had Clint picturing Coulson graciously allowing Clint to suck his cock down before gently tugging him back by the hair and reminding him to go slowly, take his time and worship him properly. That got a five rating.

 

‘Praise’ had Clint imagining Coulson watching him from the corner of the room as Clint worked himself open on a dildo, telling him what a good boy he was and that he could do it if he put his mind to it, cause he was Sir’s good boy and he was made for it. Five rating.

 

‘Kissing’ was the kicker, the one that had Clint pressing his palm against his pants to give himself some relief. His mind ran back to the kisses in that elevator, the feel of Coulson’s tongue against his own, staking its claim, owning him as Clint pressed tightly against him. 

 

Thankfully, after that page there were some less sexual questions that apparently helped determine what kind of person you were and helped match up your personality to potential doms on the site. Questions like: If you found a wallet on the street, would you hand it in to the police straight away? And does the earth revolve around the sun? Clint filled out the minimum 15 questions and clicked through to the final page which he read over briefly to make sure he hadn’t missed anything.

 

“Alright then, Craig, let's find you a dom,” Clint said as he clicked ‘post profile’. 

 

Immediately, the little envelope icon in the top right corner flashed with a message, and Clint felt quite smug as he clicked it, only to find it was a system generated message to welcome him to SubBuzz. Whatever, Clint thought, it’s not like he was actually looking for a date…

 

But then he noticed 4 NEW MATCHES on the side bar of the site and clicked through. Sure enough there were four - no, five now - ‘matches’ for him. Well, matches for Craig, anyway. 

 

The first one Clint clicked on was a man around 50 (he said on his questionnaire that he liked older doms) who owned a bakery and wanted ‘a sub who knows their place’. Clint pulled a face. There was a little chart next to the man’s pictures which showed they were a 50% match dynamically, 60% match sexually but only 20% match personality-wise. He clicked through the man’s photos and figured he might be worth chatting to if he just wanted to hook up some time, if they were 60% matched in the bedroom department. Still, the other personal statement parts of the account weren’t Clint’s cup of tea so he clicked back to his matches (which were in the double digits now).

 

And found an account that looked familiar and made Clint’s heart start beating a little faster.

 

Peter Coleman (aka Phil Coulson) was a cop with the Manhattan precinct, and wanted ‘to find a sub that wants to be cared for, who wants to be good for me in return’. 

 

Clint clicked through and moaned a little as he paged through Coulson’s photos. There was one in particular which was just _unfair_ , with Coulson caught in the act of rolling up his sleeves and looking serious in his glasses, listening to something and looking a little pissed off, if anything. Clint licked his lips and imagined licking over the vein in Coulson’s forearm, imagined the tang of sweat on his skin after a long day hard at work…

 

98% match sexually, said the chart to the side, as if such a figure wasn’t worthy of a more triumphant announcement than a thin red line. The other numbers were similarly high, with personality set to 80% and dynamics set at 90%. Sure, perhaps it was just because of the stuff they _had_ to put on their profiles that made them match up so seamlessly, but still. Clint imagined Coulson’s ‘I know you’re right but I’m not going to dignify this with a response’ face as he clicked through to the rest of his write-up.

 

*

The next morning Clint was feeling a little delicate, having fucked himself quite thoroughly for at least two hours the previous evening. Whether or not he moaned Phil Coulson’s name (any time he wasn’t deepthroating another dildo and imagining it was a certain detective’s cock), was beside the point. He sat at the front of the briefing room and waited for everyone else to filter in. 

 

Coulson walked in holding a box that he offered to Clint. “Donut?” Clint suddenly felt a little bit guilty at having spent his usual baking time taking care of some rather more primal urges last night. “They’re healthy,” Coulson added, at Clint’s hesitation. 

 

“What?” 

 

“They’re, y’know, organic and… they have stevia and grains and stuff? I don’t know.” He shook the box a little and what appeared to be powdered sugar puffed up into the air between them. Then Coulson offered Clint a tiny smile, too. Apparently that rigorous work out last night had been all for naught. 

 

“Thanks, boss,” Clint forced a smile and took one, taking a bite as Coulson watched. “Fuck, these are amazing,” he said almost immediately, all thoughts of pretence gone as the sweetness coated his tongue.

 

“Glad you approve,” Coulson chuckled. “It’s about time I brought you something to eat, anyway.” 

 

Clint was saved from saying something embarrassing by Skye walking in and handing Coulson a sheaf of paper before taking a donut of her own. “So the IP addresses are — holy crap what the hell? This is delicious.” 

 

 

*

 

By the time the rest of the relevant people had filtered in and made themselves at home (and exclaimed about how great the donuts were), Skye had explained that the IP addresses, as predicted, led nowhere, but the chatlog search had shown similarly conspicuous accounts had chatted with a few other people using the same phrases as their perp. 

 

Coulson assigned Wilson and May to check those doms out and see if any of the other subs they’d interacted with had been hurt and not reported it. The next step seemed to be bringing in the people who run the app itself, though that was a legal minefield. 

 

“Any questions before I hand off to Fury for the dailies?”

 

“Yeah, where’d you get these donuts from?” said someone at the back of the room. 

 

"Look, guys, I’m kind of going on a hunch here." Skye looked a little nervous. "I know the detective stuff is not really my area, but I'm thinking you might be dealing with someone who's a computer tech or something. There's something about this, the routing and double backs and how well the trail is hidden." She shrugged, "Just be aware, ok. This guy is smarter than the average bear, at least when it comes to computers."

 

Clint locked gazes with Coulson. The tech angle wasn't something they'd given any consideration to before but it made sense. Whoever was using SubBuzz to hone in on potential victims did seem to have an in depth knowledge of the app itself.

 

"We've done background checks on all the main players at the SubBuzz company," Clint said. "But, maybe we need to look at the app developers.  I don't know exactly how that stuff works but..." His voice trailed off uncertainly.

 

"I can do that. I'll get Darcy to help me and we can dig around in the code itself." Skye said excitedly. "It's sort of industry norm for the suits to come up with an idea and then hire out the tech part to get someone to actually do the design and build of the app."

 

"Run with it," Coulson ordered. "Dig around and see what you come up with. Now how about we all get to it."

 

“I need to talk to you, Clint,” Coulson said as Clint fell in step with him on the way to their desks. 

 

“Sure,” Clint replied. “What’s up?” 

 

Coulson waited til they were both sitting, their computer chairs facing one another. Coulson seemed hesitant about something, and it was a little bit disconcerting.

 

He took a deep breath before beginning. 

 

“Captain Fury thinks the best course of action with our case is for two officers go undercover to recreate a similar scenario as what happened with the victims before they were attacked.” 

 

“…Ok?” 

 

“The obvious officers in this case would be, well, it’d be us, since we’re both so familiar with the case. But I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so I’m giving you the option to say no…” 

 

“Why would I say no?” 

 

Coulson seemed taken aback at that. But why _would_ Clint say no? He bit his lip to stop himself from saying something along the lines of ‘getting to go on a fancy date with you, bankrolled by the police department? Who could say no to that?!’ 

 

“Well, we’d have to be quite intimate on this d-… mission. And I’m not sure how well I’d be able to handle myself if you were to get into genuine danger, either. Not that you need me to look out for you,” Phil hastened to add. “I know you’re more than,” he swallowed, “capable.”

“No, this makes sense,” Clint replied. “We don’t know how our suspect is locating his victims - how does he know where they live? So if we recreate the process as closely as we can, maybe we can lure him out. Make him do the hard work for us. Besides, there might not be any physical evidence anyway even if we do find the guy. This way we might be able to catch him red handed.”

 

“We’ll have to recreate the whole process very closely,” Coulson warned, and Clint nodded. 

 

“We got through yesterday, I think I can handle a couple more raunchy messages, Sir.” 

 

Coulson ducked his head and smiled as he rubbed the back of his neck. That was Clint’s move. “You’re a good man, Clint Barton.”

 

“Save it for SubBuzz,” Clint joked, and they both smiled awkwardly before Coulson excused himself to get coffee.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Three hours later Phil was convinced that this was a terrible idea. Maybe the worst idea in the history of worst ideas. Phil looked across the desk at where Clint was bent over a stack of files, his head propped up on one hand. Phil had spent the morning not initiating a chat with Clint aka MuscleSub245 even though he'd been the one to broach the subject.

 

He had sent out a polite, “Would you like to chat?” request to two of the other subs that SubBuzz had matched him with, including Live2Serve, the one that had met up with Delacorte. So far he hadn't heard back from either sub, which he assumed was due to timing. Maybe people only trolled hook up websites closer to dark instead of before lunch.

 

He picked up his cell phone and scrolled to the SubBuzz app; as soon as Clint had agreed to Fury's undercover request, Skye had downloaded it to both Phil and Clint's personal phones, assuring them that no one would actually access a site like that from their work computers.

 

Clint's profile had shown up as almost a perfect match, and if their unknown suspect had some way of monitoring the program, it was going to look suspicious if Phil didn't at least try to initiate a chat soon.

 

He opened the icon and flipped through to Clint's profile for about the twentieth time. Phil had maybe saved those pictures to the photo album of his phone to look at later, especially the one where Clint was looking up at the camera through his eyelashes with his head tilted to one side so that the light fell on the long expanse of his throat and the exposed skin at the top of his chest where his v-neck sweater dipped down...

 

“Is there a reason you're looking at sexy pictures of your new partner when he's literally four feet away from you?” Natasha reached over his shoulder and plucked the phone out of Phil's hand with a grin.

 

“Hey!” Phil lurched up, grabbing his phone back. “Damn it, Tasha. Why do you have to be so sneaky?” Phil knew his cheeks were red, he could feel the telltale rush of blood that signaled a blush.

 

She cocked her head to the side and tapped her watch, “How  does showing up exactly on time for our long standing lunch date count as sneaky? Does he know you're mooning over him?” 

 

She turned to Clint and stuck a hand out looking at him intently, “Natasha Romanov, from the Brooklyn SVU. Do you know he's mooning over you? What have you done to Phil to turn him into such a creeper?”

 

Clint flushed bright red and seemed rendered mute for the first time since Phil had met him. He shook her hand, “Clint Barton and, uh...”

 

“So, you're the guy.” Natasha said and arched an eyebrow at Clint as she gave him a slow up and down look. “Pretty.”

 

“Leave him alone, Natasha.” Phil huffed. “It's for a case, okay. I'll explain it over lunch.”

 

He snatched his jacket off the back of his office chair and tucked his phone into his pocket. “Sorry,” he muttered in Clint's general direction. He grabbed Natasha by the elbow and propelled her toward the door. “I'll be back in an hour.”

 

“Oh, it'll take more than an hour, Phil.” Natasha paused in the doorway and gave Clint a lascivious wink.

 

*

 

Natasha shoved the rest of her taco in her mouth and chewed as she eyed Phil thoughtfully. She'd spent the last forty-five minutes grilling Phil about both the SubBuzz case and his new partner and seemed unsatisfied with his answers on both topics.

 

“So, you're totally attracted to him - which by the way is obvious to anybody within ten city blocks of the two of you - but you're not going to play with him. You are, however, going to go undercover as his potential dom on this case which will entail hours of sexy texting, negotiating kinks, candlelit dinners and probably at least some physical contact as you try to draw out a lunatic sub who gets his kicks mutilating other subs.”

 

She shook her head. “Oh Phil, this has disaster written all over it. Why don't you take that poor boy to bed? Fuck him hard, take him down and either get it out of your system or see if you're as good a match as you appear to be. As it is, you're both distracted and that's not going to lead to anything good for you or for your case.”

 

Phil took another bite of his salad. Since he'd been eating a little healthier due to Clint's homemade goodies, greasy tacos hadn't held much appeal. “I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. I find myself telling him good job and he looks at me like I hung the moon. I don't know, maybe I do need to get past my hang ups over Ward and see where things could go with Clint. I thought I could compartmentalize but he's on my mind all the time, I don't know if it's this case or just that we're really that compatible.”

 

Natasha gave him an intense look that had Phil fighting the urge to squirm in his seat. She dropped her voice down low. "Look, I debated about telling you this but I did some checking up on Ward. I know you feel guilty - God knows why - about his suicide attempt."

 

Phil opened his mouth to protest but stayed silent at her death glare.

 

"Ward will never be a cop again, Phil. Hell, he shouldn't have made it through the psych screenings at the academy in the first place. But, he's doing okay." Natasha cocked her head to one side. Phil forgot sometimes that Ward and Tasha had been in the same academy class together back in the day. "He's working in private security and he's involved with a dom that seems to be meeting his needs."

 

Phil let out the breath he didn't realize he's been holding. There'd been some part of him that had wondered if Ward could be involved in this case once Clint made the connection that they were looking for a sub instead of a dom. Natasha's words offered him comfort he didn't know he needed.

 

"Now, enough about the past. Let's talk about the very attractive sub that's got you so off balance." Natasha picked his phone up off the table. “And you still haven't initiated a chat with him, right?”

 

Phil shook his head. “Nope. It felt a little weird with him sitting right across from me, I mean it's for the case, not for us, but --”

 

“Well, he's not sitting across from you now.” She launched the app and scrolled back to Clint's profile. “He really is awfully pretty, Phil. Not as pretty as _me_ , of course, but you always did prefer your pretty with a dick attached.” She passed him the phone. "I'm going to the ladies room and you're going to start chatting with that pretty sub that you're a perfect match for.”  She gave him a wink and made air quotes, “for work.”

 

Typical smart ass.

 

Phil licked his lips and typed out his standard _“would you like to chat?”_ He started to lay the phone back down - Clint was probably at lunch too - but a response popped up immediately.

 

**_MuscleSub245:_ ** _Love to._

 

Phil paused for a minute, considering. He wasn’t supposed to know anything about Clint/Craig other than his username and the information of his profile.

 

**_IprotectUserve:_ ** _I like your pictures. You fit your name. What I can see of your body looks beautiful._

 

**_MuscleSub245:_ ** _Thank you, Sir. I’m glad it pleases you._

 

**_IprotectUserve:_ ** _It pleases me very much._

 

Safe enough.  

 

“Boring!” Natasha announced, reading the screen over his shoulder when she returned to the table. “You have to forget you know him, Phil. This is supposed to be a hot anonymous sub you may never lay eyes on in the flesh. Stop worrying about offending him.”

 

Only it wasn’t offending him that Phil was worrying about, it was putting the thoughts that had been filling his head since Clint Barton came into his life down in black and white that scared him. Once they were out of his head, how could Phil ever reign them back in? “Here goes,” he muttered.

 

**_IprotectUserve:_ ** _It would please me to see more of your body. Preferably naked and on your knees at my feet. Your mouth would look gorgeous wrapped around my cock._

 

Clint’s response was immediate.

 

**_MuscleSub245:_ ** _I bet you taste so good, Sir. I could suck on you all day. Show you what a good boy I could be for you._

 

Fuck. Phil’s cock was getting very interested in this conversation… at a table in a Midtown Mexican restaurant.

 

Natasha gave him a knowing smirk. “As much as I would love to watch you sit here and engage in Fury-sanctioned sexting, I have to get back to work.”  

 

Phil waved her away, already turning back to his phone.  

 

**_IprotectUserve:_ ** _If you were very good, I might fuck your mouth until I come down your throat.  But only if you promised not to spill a drop. Could you be very good for me?_

 

**_MuscleSub245:_ ** _Best boy you ever had, Sir. I’ll take everything you want to give me and beg you for more._

 

Yeah, Phil thought. He just bet Clint would be the best he ever had. He thought about Clint on his knees, head thrown back, mouth open so Phil could thrust right down his throat. He'd be so damn beautiful like that. Eyes closed, hands on his thighs, just there to be Phil's sweet boy.

 

He looked back at the phone, realized a few minutes had passed since Clint's last message. 

 

**_IprotectUserve:_ ** _I bet you look pretty when you beg, your dick hard and dripping for me._

 

There was a long pause, long enough that Phil thought Clint might have been interrupted by a phone call or some other police business. He was getting ready to sign off and head back to the office when one last message came through.

 

**_MuscleSub245:_ ** _You tell me, Sir. Can't talk anymore now, but later if you like what you see. ;)_

 

Along with the text message was a little blinking icon indicating a picture was attached.

 

They'd talked about this. Skye had even loaded their phones with a supply of generic stock porn photos she's downloaded from the internet. Nothing that showed a face, just random lewd images they could pass off as their own bodies during the course of a chat. Swapping photos was big on SubBuzz.

 

Phil's finger hovered over the icon for a brief second and then he opened it.

 

As he'd mostly expected, it was a picture of a dick.

 

A very pretty one.

 

It wasn’t as large as Phil's but it was long with a little curve to the right. It was erect, flushed red with arousal. A strong hand wrapped around it about midway up, the thumb pressed right up against the head. There was a single drop of precome shining wetly on the slit at the end.

 

It could be any random dick pic off the internet, but it wasn't.

 

Phil was looking at a picture of _Clint's_ very pretty cock. He recognized the silver thumb ring Clint wore on his right thumb. He'd watched Clint run his fingers across it countless times, a little nervous gesture that Clint probably didn't even realize he had.

 

*

 

When Phil got back to the precinct Clint wasn't at his desk. Phil wasn't sure exactly how he felt about that, relieved or disappointed. He'd spent the twenty minute walk back to the office getting his dick back under control and trying to figure out exactly what his next moves should be. Casewise and Clintwise.

 

Casewise he couldn't do much else except wait to see if he got a response back from the other chat requests he sent out, particularly the one from Live2Serve.

 

Clintwise… well, Phil didn't know what the fuck he was doing. He'd had his head buried in the sand, trying to convince himself that the attraction between them would fade, only pretty much the opposite had happened.

 

Clint had sent him a picture of his dick.

 

You didn't _accidentally_ send someone a dick picture, not even in the context of a case like the SubBuzz one. Not when you could just as easily send one of the generic dick pics. Did Clint want Phil to know it was his picture? Was Phil supposed to think it was generic? Wouldn't Clint have taken off the goddamn ring if he didn't want Phil to know it was his? Or was it possible that Clint was just so turned on that he wasn't thinking clearly and snapped the pic and sent it without stopping to think about the ring?

 

Phil grabbed one of the files out of his inbox and started flipping through it. He was having trouble focusing. Had been having trouble focusing on anything other than the pitiful state of his love life ever since Clint Barton had arrived on the scene.

 

Ignoring the attraction wasn't working. Having Clint go from being flirty sub to “good boy” sub and yeah again, that phrase wasn't helping Phil's perpetual boner situation, wasn't working. And now, thanks to Fury's brilliant (and Phil had to admit that it really did make sense) idea, now he was swapping sex scenarios and illicit photos with his partner. Maybe Natasha was right and he and Clint should just fuck whatever this was out of their system.

 

“Deep thoughts?” Clint said as he slid into his desk chair.

 

“What?” Phil said. “Oh, no. Just,” he gestured at the file. “You know, going back over the file.” He looked over at Clint, his eyes fixating on the thumb ring where Clint's hand was wrapped around a fancy white cup with a little purple design on it. It was one of the set that Phil had brought in from home a few days ago thinking china might make the coffee taste better. It didn't. The coffee still tasted like sludge.

 

Watching Clint's large hand delicately cradle the cup, the dull gleam of the silver ring he'd seen pressed against the head of Clint's cock now reflecting against the shiny white china… Jesus fuck it was torture. Clint took another small sip of coffee, wide eyes fixated on Phil's over the rim, pale pink tongue flicking out to lick a drop off his lips when he pulled the cup away.

 

“S'ok? I saw the cups on your desk. Was I not supposed to?” Clint started to set the cup down.

 

“No.” Phil said. “I like it. You should use it, drink out of it. You look-- I mean, I brought them in for everybody to use. I like seeing you use it.”

 

“If you're sure.” Clint said and took another small sip.

 

Perpetual boner.

 

“So hey, your old partner is...” Clint's voice trailed off. “She makes an impression.”

 

“Sorry about that.” Phil let out a little laugh. “Natasha is kind of like a force of nature. Brilliant, kick ass and a mean right hook. HQ handpicked her to help set up the SVU unit in Brooklyn or we'd still be partnered together.”

 

“They split you up?” Clint asked.

 

He had finished the coffee and set the little cup to the side, thank god. Phil was going to draw the line at coffee cup erections. 

 

Tomorrow. 

 

Probably.

 

“No, they offered us both the gig but I'm settled here. If I'd gone, Natasha would never have had a shot at the Captain position. They would have put me in there as a senior detective just because I was a dom and when I retired they would have moved another dom up even though she had more seniority.” Phil rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and sighed. “It's shitty, but I've been around long enough to know how department politics play out. This way she's not just the senior-most submissive, she's the senior-most detective in the unit, period. They're still rotating in new doms to see who's going to be a good fit with her.”

 

“That's actually pretty damn awesome of you, Sir.” He looked at Phil from underneath his eyelashes; it made Phil feel about ten feet tall and bulletproof. “Most doms wouldn't have cared if their work partners missed out on opportunities. It uh,” he licked his lips, his cheeks a little flushed. “It says a lot about the kind of person you are, the kind of dom you are.”

 

And yeah, there it was.

 

Phil's breath caught, his eyes dropping down to where Clint's hands rested together on the blotter of his desk. He was doing that thing where he was cradling the fingers of his right hand in his left hand, his left thumb absently brushing across the ring he wore at the base of his right thumb.

 

He was going to maintain his professional relationship with Detective Barton.

 

Phil was not going to say anything about that ring or that picture outside the confines of the SubBuzz chat app between IprotectUserve and MuscleSub245.

 

He was not going to.

 

He was not.

 

He leaned across the desk, voice pitched just low enough for Clint to hear. 

 

“I like your ring.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

Clint knew there was probably a flush peeking out of the top of his shirt, and his toes curled under the desk at Coulson’s comment about his ring. He wasn’t sure ‘IprotectUserve’ would notice the very obvious clue he’d left in the picture he’d sent, but he was more than happy that he had. 

 

“Thank you, Sir,” Clint replied softly, thinking about Coulson looking at the picture he’d sent less than an hour ago, wondering if it was still on his phone, sitting in his pocket close to his heart. 

 

They looked at each other for a long beat, a drawn out moment in which Clint ached to close the space between them and kiss his way into that mouth again, but felt like he was rooted to the spot. The ring felt like it was burning him where it sat on his thumb, charged by the energy that fizzed between them. 

 

As if in slow motion, Coulson swallowed, his throat bobbing as he leaned in carefully. For a fleeting moment Clint thought perhaps he might kiss him, right there in the station, but he stopped inches away.

 

Smelling Coulson’s cologne on the air and doing everything in his power not to whimper, Clint stayed stock still as Coulson quietly spoke.

 

“I’d like to see more pictures of it.” 

 

Clint felt like he was in a scene just from Coulson’s eye contact, and it was all he could do to make himself stay still. “Yes, Sir,” he replied, voice as breathy as a sub out of a cheesy movie. 

 

“Good boy,” Coulson said, and Clint wasn’t so far gone as to miss the roughness in his voice. 

 

*

 

Clint felt subby all afternoon after that, and it was strange to feel so floaty and agreeable at work. It was strange to feel that good after a heavy session, let alone whatever that conversation had been. 

 

It had been a long time since Clint had felt like he could really trust the doms around him to have his best interests at heart. Even though it was dangerous letting himself get so comfortable with a dom that wasn’t his, he found it hard to make himself care.  

 

The slight loss of control, or the willingness to cede control at least, should have been scarier.  As it was, Clint felt warm and floaty and safe, and got about three times more work done than usual. He’d always been bad at turning in paperwork but in his soft, slightly fuzzy state it felt easy, the pen gliding across the pages like butter as he quietly, calmly filled out all the paperwork languishing from the other minor cases he and Coulson had worked on over the last few weeks.

 

Every time Clint finished one case-load’s worth and added them on the pile of finished cases on Coulson’s desk, he felt like he was being gently kissed when he received a simple "thank you" from the man. When he closed the final file and turned to Coulson to tell him he’d actually done _all_ his paperwork (something that had become a bit of an inside joke between them of late), Coulson softly said “good boy” again. It was mostly a joke, except it wasn’t and they both knew it. Either way, Clint felt like the sun was shining on him. 

 

Who knew paperwork could be so fun?

 

As the afternoon dragged on and Clint’s world returned slowly to the hustle and bustle of a busy precinct rather than the private cocoon of Coulson’s regard, he started thinking about what he was going to do after work. Coulson had pretty much told him to send him pictures of his dick, and if there was one thing Clint was sure he could do, it was send Coulson pictures of his dick.

 

He wondered what other pictures he could send too. He had a few toys at home, nothing fancy but a couple of dildos, a fleshlight, a plug or two… Perhaps he’d drop those into the conversation on SubBuzz and see if they provoked some inspiration in his dom. Clint shook his head at himself. _Coulson is not my dom,_ he mentally recited. _Coulson is not my dom._

 

_Not yet_ , he couldn’t help but add when he got an eyeful of Coulson’s damned ass as he leaned over Wilson’s desk.

 

What he wouldn’t do to get his lips all over that ass. He wondered if Coulson was into rimming, if he’d let Clint eat his ass, wondered if he’d _make_ him do it… 

 

“I’d say get a room but I think you actually would,” said Darcy from beside him, and Clint shut his mouth with a snap. Crap, had he been staring? With his mouth open?! 

 

Darcy just laughed and shook her head. “Here,” she handed Clint a sheaf of clipped together papers. “Target practice recertification time!” She sing-songed, shooting gunfingers at him as she walked out. 

 

Clint flipped through the photocopied sheets. Even though he was in the top five percent of marksmen in the entire police force, he still had to formally recertify every three years. It was kind of a chore, but Clint never minded a session at the range. 

 

He had a couple of weeks to do it in. Maybe he could figure out a way to get Coulson down there with him, show the man what he could really do. That just got his mind going off on a whole other track, imagining a darkened range with no one else there but Coulson pressed up against his back, words hot in Clint’s ear telling him when to take each shot. As if that wasn’t enough, then his subconscious decided to imagine Coulson’s cock in his ass too, hands pressed against Clint’s hips as he found out if Clint could shoot straight when he was being thoroughly fucked at the same time. 

 

Jesus fuck, he had to get out of there. 

 

*

 

At home, Clint showered and prepared himself. He felt more nervous for this than he had for his last few actual physical dates. Well, mutually agreeable one night stands. Coulson wasn’t going to even be in the room with him but Clint wanted to be perfect. He even shaved, like the whole thing was a ritual and he had to perform each step with reverence. One day maybe he’d learn Coulson’s preferences for his sub’s presentation and have it down to a fine art.  

 

And shit, it was stupid to even let himself think that way. At most this thing between he and Coulson might end in a good hard fuck. Hadn't Coulson already told him that he didn't do casual? All Clint knew was casual. He wasn't relationship material, he was the sub doms liked to get off with, not the one they wanted to collar. If he was lucky, Coulson might bend his relationship rule and let Clint serve him every now and then... Clint shook his head, trying to clear it. He needed to focus on the here and now, not some fairytale future that wasn’t going to happen.

 

Clint laid his toys out on the bed. The plugs were red and black, the fleshtube flesh coloured and the dildos purple and dark blue. He spent a few minutes lining them up neatly before shaking his head and rearranging them so as not to look too arranged. Then he shook his head again and laughed. What the hell was he doing?

 

“Whatever,” he told the toys. “Shut up.” 

 

Clint didn’t have a lot of ‘sexy’ underwear, never having been interested in buying any for himself nor had a dom that seemed interested in buying any for him. It had always seemed a bit of a formality to Clint, since once you got down to business, underwear was just kind of in the way. But now, he looked through his drawers and cursed himself. They were all just boring boxer briefs. He didn’t even have a jockstrap. 

 

God, why did he care?! He’d already sent Coulson a photo of his boner! But it seemed… _crude_ to be naked right off the bat. 

 

Clint forgot about underwear and pulled on a battered pair of jeans and a hoodie, heading out to the kitchen to make something to eat before he let himself really get into things. He’d been so keyed up all damn day that yes, all he did want to do was have some hella hot sext time with his partner but now that he thought about it, he hadn’t really eaten anything all day and was famished. 

 

He opened the app as he waited for some water to boil, pouting when he didn’t have any new messages from Coulson, but replying to a few other doms he’d gotten pinged by. 

 

Clint snorted at one, some guy telling Clint in all caps that he was GOING TO BE MY FOOT SLAVE, replying _NO THANKS DUDE but good luck finding your dream feet!_

 

He flicked on the TV as he ate, prolonging the tension for no good reason other than to prolong it, really. He was a little frightened of fucking this all up, and maybe a part of him was avoiding it for that reason. What if he said something stupid and Coulson stopped liking him? What if he sent a picture and Coulson thought his ass looked weird or his dick was too bent to the side? He might already think that, Clint thought with sudden dismay. Maybe he just wanted more pictures so he could check out how weird it is.

 

“What the fuck am I doing?” Clint asked his bowl of pasta. He grabbed the phone and before he could overthink it anymore, shot off a message to IprotectUserve.

 

**_MuscleSub245:_ ** _Wanna see more pics? ;) Or are u bored of me?_

 

The reply didn’t take long at all, but the minute or so it did take felt like an eternity.

 

**_IprotectUserve:_ ** _I doubt very much that I could get bored of you. I would love to see more pictures._

 

Clint bit his lip in anticipation and then quietly gasped. Coulson had sent him a video.

 

Clint slid his thumb over the icon and then muttered a soft _“fuck me”_ when the screen showed a close up shot of the crotch of Coulson's gray suit pants. Coulson's face wasn't visible, just his fully-clothed body from belly to mid-thigh as he sat sprawled out on what looked like an armchair. He'd evidently propped the phone up somewhere to record the video because both of his hands were on screen. Those thoroughly competent hands were resting on his thighs, the sleeves of the pale blue dress shirt unbuttoned and rolled back so that his forearms were exposed. But what drew Clint's attention the most was the way the thin material of Coulson's pants pulled tight across the bulge of his erection.

 

Clint's mouth went dry as one of Coulson's hands moved to stroke over the hard line of his cock through his pants, the sound of his fingers rustling across the fabric unbearably erotic. God, Clint wanted that to be his hand moving over Coulson's dick. He reached down and cupped his own hard dick through his jeans, mimicking the movement on the screen.

 

Clint let out a little whine when the action on the video changed. Coulson gave his cock another stroke through his suit pants and then both of his hands moved up to his waistband, his fingers unbuckling his belt and flicking open the closure of his suit pants with ruthless efficiency.

 

Clint leaned forward on the couch, his eyes locked on his phone screen. One hand pressed hard against his dick through his jeans while the other had a death grip on the phone. He had a vague thought that he should pull this up on his laptop so he could see everything on a bigger screen but there was no way in hell he could stop right now and wait for his ancient laptop to boot up.

 

On the screen Coulson was unzipping his trousers and lifting his hips just enough to push them down. He was left in nothing but a pair of gray boxer briefs, the heavy line of his cock straining the material in a way that left nothing to Clint's imagination. Clint could see a damp spot on the fabric where Coulson's dick had leaked precome. Clint wanted nothing more than to put his mouth there, to lick and suck every little taste of Coulson through his underwear.

 

“Christ,” Clint moaned.

 

Coulson's voice was husky as he teased the waistband of his boxer briefs down just far enough for Clint to see the fat head of his cock. It was flushed dark red and shiny with the drops of precome oozing out the slit. “If you were here with me, I'd put you on your knees and make you earn the right to suck my dick.” He spread his legs wider and pushed his underwear down far enough that Clint could see how thick his shaft was, “I bet you'd beg so nicely to choke on this.”

 

God, Clint wanted that. He wanted his mouth to be strained around the girth of Coulson’s fat dick, his throat raw from where Coulson had thrust into him.

 

Coulson's thumb stroked over the head, deliberately smearing the wetness over the pad of his thumb before he held it out toward the camera so Clint could see the way it glistened with Coulson’s precome. “If you were a good boy, I'd give you a little taste. Make you lick my fingers before I decided whether I wanted to fuck your face or use you some other way.” Coulson's voice dropped deeper, the naturally dominant tone making something smooth and dark roll over Clint. “I bet you could be a very good boy for me.”

 

“You have no idea, Sir.” Clint whispered to his empty apartment. He let out a little whimper when the video cut off. Forcing himself to fight back up from the hazy feeling Coulson's words and the video had evoked. Shit, he'd been on the verge of dropping into subspace. Phil Coulson had nearly put him down via video without even being in the same five mile vicinity, without laying a hand on him.

 

Clint could only imagine how effective Coulson would be face to face.

 

He was getting a little tired of relying on his imagination when Coulson was only a short subway ride away...

 


	9. Chapter 9

In his apartment a few miles away, Phil downed the rest of his drink and settled back in the armchair with his phone in his hand, waiting for Clint's response to his video. He’d been half hard all day, his cock aching from the teasing exchanges with Clint both over the SubBuzz app and across the squadroom. He'd deliberately upped the ante with the video, figuring Clint's picture deserved something in response that would remind him exactly who was in charge.

 

He'd memorized the picture of Clint's cock, the way his hand looked wrapped around the shaft, the way the thumb ring glinted against his skin. Phil'd imagined what it would feel like to have Clint's strong hand wrapped around his own dick, the metal of Clint's ring pressing against his skin. 

 

He'd come home and thought about nothing but getting his hands on Clint, putting an end to this back and forth bullshit and making Clint _his_. Phil had been without a sub too long, slaking his needs with the occasional trip to one of the clubs but otherwise denying himself. And fate or Fury, or whatever, had put Clint Barton right in his path. Now that Phil had decided to take a chance on things he couldn't wait for the goddamn case to be over so he could put Clint on his knees.

 

He reached down and lazily stroked his cock. He wanted to get off, but he wanted to get off with Clint. 

 

He opened the picture of Clint’s hand on his cock again, picturing him jerking off to the video he’d just sent. Before he had time to worry that he might’ve overstepped the mark, the little bubble to show Clint was writing back popped up.

 

**_MuscleSub245:_ ** _You’re a tease, Sir. Got me all worked up now._

 

**_IprotectUserve:_ ** _Care to show me just how worked up?_

 

Another picture came through almost immediately, though it wasn’t a dick pic this time, at least in the usual sense. It’s a picture of Clint’s crotch, unmistakable bulge pressed against his leg where his jeans were pulled tight because he was seated, one ringed hand casually resting over his cock.

 

**_IprotectUserve:_ ** _Who’s the tease now?_

 

**_MuscleSub245:_ ** _Can’t exactly whip my dick out in public, Sir. At least not til we know each other a little better and you order me to ;)_

 

That sent a thrill through Phil; the thought of being able to whisper a simple instruction to Clint and have him obediently kneeling for him in public if Phil so desired it. He wasn’t sure he would want to, but the thought that he _could_ , that Clint might place his trust in him so completely, was a heady thought indeed.

 

**_IprotectUserve:_ ** _I think I’d like that. Maybe I’ll take you out and have you kneel under the table for me, I can hand feed you when you take breaks from keeping my cock warm._

 

**_MuscleSub245:_ ** _Fuck, I don’t wanna come yet, sir. Don’t wanna come til you tell me to._

 

**_IprotectUserve:_ ** _You’ll have to work for it boy, and I’m not easy to please._

 

**_MuscleSub245:_ ** _Please sir, tell me what you’d want me to do. Tell me how you’d make me work for it._

 

Phil bit his lip and kneaded his cock with the hand he wasn’t frantically texting with. The thought of Clint on his knees ready to do anything he could to please his master almost had Phil whimpering, let alone any of the actual details. He’d been over Clint’s profile again and again, noting how well their kinks aligned, as if Clint was hand picked purely for this - for him. Sure, part of it might just be the algorithm-busting particulars that Skye had added in, but the few sentences that elaborated had been written by Clint himself. Phil had read each one with great interest.

**_IprotectUserve:_ ** _I’ll take you down slowly. First you’ll strip for me, down to nothing at all but the ropes I tie your hands with. Then you’ll open your mouth and be very still for me whilst I feed you the very tip of my cock. You’ll already be wanting more by then, but I won’t give it to you just yet, and if you move I’ll have to punish you._

 

**_MuscleSub245:_ ** _I won’t move._

 

**_IprotectUserve:_ ** _I know you won’t. You just want to be good, don’t you? You want to do well and be rewarded._

 

**_MuscleSub245:_ ** _Yes Sir. I can be good. I can be so good. Best you’ve ever had._

 

**_IprotectUserve:_ ** _I bet you can. If you’re very good I’ll let you lick my balls, breathe in my scent so you know who you belong to._

 

**_MuscleSub245:_ ** _Can I rim you?_

 

Phil let go of his cock like a hot poker, the thought of Clint burying his face in Phil’s ass and rimming him all whilst holding his hands perfectly still on his own thighs, seeking only Phil’s pleasure and not his own, not til he’s been given Phil’s gracious permission, threatening to tip Phil over all too soon. 

 

**_IprotectUserve:_ ** _If you’re good._

 

**_MuscleSub245:_ ** _I’ll be good ;)_

 

**_MuscleSub245:_ ** _May I have another video, Sir?_

 

Phil arched an eyebrow and smiled at his phone. Cheeky.

 

**_IprotectUserve:_ ** _Pushy sub, are you?_

 

**_MuscleSub245:_ ** _I want to see if you’re as hard as I am. And your cock looks very tasty ;P_

 

Clint sent a short, slightly shaky video through, his hand on his still-covered crotch, rubbing slowly up and down the length of his hard cock despite being in what appeared to be a cab, judging from the sounds and the odd lighting. Phil’s mouth watered at the thought of a wrung out, blissfully floating Clint Barton, laying back as Phil took that delicious looking cock in his mouth and truly rewarded Clint for all his hard work. He watched the video three times in quick succession before writing back.

 

**_IprotectUserve:_ ** _Where are you?_

 

**_MuscleSub245:_ ** _Out n about ;)_

 

Phil wasn’t supposed to know ‘MuscleSub245’ beyond this conversation, but where would Clint even be going at that time of night? His heart sunk when he thought that perhaps Clint wasn’t actually as interested in all this as Phil, not if he was messaging him on a whim when he was going out somewhere. Oh god, what if he was on a date? Or going out to a club? 

 

**_IprotectUserve:_ ** _That’s a shame, I thought we could have some fun together tonight._

 

**_MuscleSub245:_ ** _Maybe we can, Sir ;) Tell me more about what you wanna do to me_

 

**_IprotectUserve:_ ** _I want to tie you up, make it so you’re all mine. And then I’ll give you what you need first, before taking what I want._

 

**_MuscleSub245:_ ** _What do I need, Sir?_

 

**_IprotectUserve:_ ** _A firm hand but a gentle touch, I think. You want to be good but you want to be MADE to be good. Am I right?_

 

**_MuscleSub245:_ ** _Yeah, you’re right, Sir. I need your firm hand, need you to keep me out of  trouble. Want you to make me your perfect little sub. Want you to feed me your cock til I’m gagging, but you’ll keep going anyway cause I gotta learn, and I’ll thank you after when my face is a mess and my throat is sore._

 

That was quite the mental image, and Phil fondled his balls idly as he imagined Clint covered in his own spit and Phil’s come, rasping out a thank you, grateful for Phil’s rough tutelage. He wondered how rough Clint would want it, wondered if he was tempering his messages in line with the app’s parameters or if he would let Phil mark him, if he’d let Phil flog him or cane him some day. It was all too much - Phil wanted it all much too much.

 

**_IprotectUserve:_ ** _What else do you want to learn?_

 

Phil waited for a reply, the bubble coming up but then staying there for… ages. Long enough that Phil thought perhaps Clint got to the club, the conversation forgotten. “C’mon,” he complained at his phone. 

 

He was just about to take his empty glass to the kitchen and then get into bed to jerk off for the 12th time to Clint’s dick when his phone buzzed and the doorbell rang at the same time.

 

Phil stood in the middle of the living room and dithered. Fuck it. He read the message first. 

 

**_MuscleSub245:_ ** _Wanna learn how you like it, Sir. Wanna learn just how big that cock is and how big it feels when you’re fucking my ass with it. I’m tight, Sir, but I open up real easy. I wanna learn how to deep throat you and lick your balls at the same time. Wanna know what it feels like to be filled with your come and feel it dripping out of me. I want you to teach me everything. All I can think about is your cock in my ass, your voice in my ear, telling me just how to move to get you off. Only time I’m not thinking about that is when I’m fucking my mouth with a dildo and wishing it was your cock owning me instead. I barely even know you but I want it all._

 

Phil pushed his erection painfully back into his pants and looked through the peephole in the door, thinking it must be his elderly neighbour after a spare lightbulb again. But no. It wasn’t Mrs Katz. 

 

It was MuscleSub245 himself.

 

Clint was standing in the hallway, looking equal parts fuckable and apprehensive like he wanted to be there but wasn't sure of his welcome.

 

Fucking hell, this was either going to be torture or bliss. Phil steeled himself and took a deep centering breath. It wouldn't do for his sub (not his _yet_ , but _soon_ … maybe) to see him so off balance. His cock strained painfully against his pants, but his hands had stopped shaking when he disengaged the lock and opened the door.

 

“I can go,” Clint said immediately, “but,” he finally met Phil’s eyes. “I don’t think you want that, Sir.” 

 

Phil grabbed a handful of Clint’s hoodie and all but hauled him inside, crushing their lips together as he shut the door and pressed Clint back against it. God, he felt even better than before, all that hard muscle and tempered strength complying with Phil’s movement, letting him put Clint right where he wanted him. It was a bad idea but Phil couldn’t care less, not when Clint was biting back into Phil’s kisses, as Phil’s hands flew against Clint’s clothes, unzipping the hoodie and pushing it down around Clint’s elbows, his hands too busy untucking Phil’s shirt to let it fall to the floor. Instead, Phil went for Clint’s jeans, pressing his lips to the smooth heat of Clint’s neck at the same time. Clint moaned as Phil bared his teeth against his skin, his own hands stopping in their fruitless mission to undo the buttons of Phil’s shirt. 

 

“Fuck, Sir, please,” he grit out, hips moving rhythmically between where he was trapped between the door and Phil’s body.

 

“Tell me,” Phil replied, licking up the hollow of Clint’s throat at the same time as putting his hands on Clint’s hips and holding him still. Clint’s lips were reddened from the kisses and his eyes - his eyes looked like he was halfway down into subspace already. Phil held him still and rubbed his own clothed erection against him. “Tell me what you want.” 

 

Clint took a moment to answer, licking his lips and blinking a few times before coming to a decision. “A taste,” he said at last. “Let me - please let me suck your cock, Sir.” 

 

Phil had fantasised endlessly about Clint sucking his cock, elaborately planned out just how he’d make Clint work for it, imagining him begging for the privilege, but right then, all he could think was: _“yes.”_ He whispered it against Clint’s lips but didn’t let go, keeping Clint pressed against the door as he kissed his way to Clint’s earlobe. He sucked it into his mouth and slid a hand inside Clint’s jeans (having given up on their button fly) to feel the heat of Clint’s cock for himself. “Is this for me?” he whispered, doing his best to grip it despite the pressure of unforgiving denim. 

 

Clint trembled, bucking against Phil’s hand and nodding. “Yes, Sir.” 

 

Phil stepped away just far enough that he could retrieve his hand and fully concentrate on getting Clint’s jeans open, pulling out Clint’s perfect, beautiful dick. He’d tell him how perfect and beautiful it was soon enough, but right now...

 

“On your knees,” he said, and Clint slid to the floor immediately. “Open.” 

 

Clint’s cock bobbed between his legs, untouched since his hands were balled into fists on his thighs. Phil looked at it as he undid his belt and unzipped himself, swallowing when he realised Clint wasn’t touching himself because he hadn’t been _told to_.

 

Clint craned his head forward, and as much as Phil had dreamed of games and teasing, he felt as if he was drawn forward, bracing one hand against the door as he guided his cock into Clint’s waiting mouth. It was supposed to be slow and perfect, Phil was going to draw it all out for hours, but Clint took it inch by inch, head pressed back against the door as Phil closed the gap between them further and further til his cock was in Clint’s throat and he could feel Clint’s eyelashes fluttering against his belly. 

 

He pulled back enough for Clint to breathe, waited for those eyes to gaze up at him again, waited for Clint’s mouth to close and start sucking the head of Phil’s cock before pressing back in. 

 

“Fuck, Clint, knew you’d be good at this,” Phil grunted between thrusts. “Knew you weren’t lying about how good your mouth was.” He pulled back to let Clint catch his breath, daubing his spit-wet cock over Clint’s sinful lips. 

 

“Told you,” Clint grinned, tongue darting out to swipe at Phil’s dick.

“Touch yourself,” Phil commanded, noting that Clint still hadn’t reached for himself. He immediately did as he was told. “Good boy.”

 

With that, Phil drove back into Clint’s mouth, losing himself in the feeling of owning Clint so completely, glancing down now and again to watch him jerk off in his submission. 

 

He was getting there, almost to the precipice of orgasm… when the phone rang. 

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

 

 

 

One second, Clint was sucking the best cock he’d tasted in forever, the next second, he was blinking bewilderedly around the room wondering what happened. 

 

“Sir?” Clint called out, voice rasping from the goddamn perfect fucking his throat was just getting. He was down pretty far but not so far he couldn’t tell something was strange. Unless he’d severely misjudged Phil Coulson, Clint was pretty sure he wouldn’t purposely leave him mid-blow job.

 

“Fuck, goddamn,” said Coulson’s voice from further into the apartment before coming back holding his mobile phone. His cock was still hanging out, still mostly hard and glistening from Clint’s saliva, but he was frowning at his phone and right, this was why you were supposed to plan this kind of thing properly. Shit, Clint thought. Was Phil dating someone? Was he married?! Come to think of it, he didn’t really know _that_ much about the man outside of work. 

 

“It’s the case,” Coulson explained, and Clint felt relief wash over him. “Shit, Clint, I’m sorry, here,” he held out his hands to help Clint up, and when Clint pathetically swayed on the way, Phil directed him to the couch. 

 

“It’s ok,” Clint lied. “You think we can -” he gestured between his and Phil’s cocks, and Phil looked like he was about to agree that sure, they could, but then another phone rang and they both swore. 

 

“I’m actually gonna kill him.” Phil said. “Whoever it is.”

 

*

 

Both Phil and Clint had received messages from the app from the same person. The images on his profile weren’t conclusively the same person as their suspect from the other cases, but they weren’t conclusively _not_ that person. Besides, the messages he was sending were very much the kinds of messages the victims had received prior to being attacked. 

 

After a cup of coffee and a brief splash of water on his face, they sat at opposite ends of the dining table, reading back and forth from their phones as they made conversation with the perp on SubBuzz. They started out next to each other but their dicks were like magnets or something, and it seemed better for everyone if they just kept a bit of distance.

 

It wouldn’t be so bad if they didn’t have Skye on speakerphone talking them through some complicated triangulation process, and Fury texting Phil as they tried to set up a fake date, neatly sidestepping the curious fact that they both happened to be in the same room at 11 o’clock at night. 

 

Clint’s ill-advised tryst had turned into a goddamn NASA control room before his very eyes. He still felt a little dreamy from going down so fast, and he was struggling to act like his normal self when just minutes earlier he’d had Phil Coulson’s cock halfway down his throat.

 

“Clint?” Phil said, prompting Clint to realise people were waiting for him to say something. “Will you be ok with that?” 

 

“Ok with what?” 

 

“A date. To draw out the sub. Hill’s putting a team together who’ll surround wherever we stage it.” He looked calm and concerned and controlled, and Clint swallowed to chase the taste of his cock. 

 

“Fake date. Sure,” Clint replied. 

 

Great.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Phil looked around the conference room with some trepidation. Gathered around the table were Fury, Hill, Fitz, Mack, Wilson, May, Skye and Clint. Because of the sensitive subject matter of the case and the personal details of both Phil and Clint's dynamic that had been and would be openly discussed in their roles as Craig (aka musclesub245) and Peter (aka IprotectUserve) on their “date,” personnel was kept to a minimum.

 

The last few days had been even more hectic than usual. Phil gave one last glance at Clint before he started the briefing, summarizing what they knew so far.

 

IprotectUserve and Live2Serve had progressed from a few perfunctory opening chats to something a little more scene-worthy. Phil found it was particularly hard to focus on being witty and overtly sexual with the sub when the only sub he was actually interested in was sitting across the desk from him monitoring the live chat or worse yet, sitting beside him whispering suggestions in his ear.

 

Just like in the previous chatlogs between the sub and other doms, Live2Serve started off indicating that he was into mostly pleasure play.

 

Last night, Peter and Sean (the name Live2Serve had provided himself, although Phil was sure it was a fake) had progressed from flirtatious banter to a full on scene on chat. A few minutes in, Sean had used the magic line “Make me come and then make me bleed. Make me hurt over and over.” It had been in the midst of Peter describing putting Sean on his knees for a face fucking and had been jarring and disturbing. Phil didn't have to pretend to be put off by the strange switch from gentle to harsh. He'd logged off the app mid-chat and ignored the new messages from Live2Serve that flooded his inbox.

 

“We think Live2Serve's use of these terms and my sudden break off of all communication should be flipping whatever switch sets him off. It's worth noting that at the same time Live2Serve contacted me, a sub using another name but with a similar pictures and profile contacted Clint's online persona, musclesub245.” Phil paused and glanced down at his notes. “The SubBuzz folks tell us that in addition to matchmaking, the app is also a social connection for subs and doms who are looking for friends with similar tastes. It appears that Live2Serve was contacting Clint to try to get more information about him and possibly to see why musclesub245 and IprotectUserve seem to have made such a connection.”

 

Hill crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair. “Am I the only one who finds this whole thing supremely creepy? You've got potential crazy sub chatting with a dom he's interested in and at the same time he's befriending the competition, aka future victim.” She frowned.

 

Phil nodded, “The friend connection is something we initially missed, it didn't occur to us to pull sub to sub chatlogs until this guy made contact with Clint. Now it looks like that happened with every victim. Since it’s common for subs to reach out to other subs in friendship on the site, it didn't raise any flags.”

 

Clint chimed in, “Most of what this guy wanted to know in our chats is what I did to keep doms interested, that kind of thing. Very innocent sounding stuff.”

 

“Until you consider that he's planning to carve you up to get rid of the competition.” Fitz shuddered. “Have we figured out how this guy knows who’s chatting with who?”  

 

Skye spoke up. “That’s another feature of the app, part of the ‘social’ part of it. Even if you’re not directly matched with a particular dom or sub, you can use the friend function to identify potential friends with the same dynamic and then see who they’re interacting with. The app will even recommend potential friends, sort of like how facebook recommends you like a page based on your preferences.” She paused for a minute and then continued. "Look, like I said before, there's a good chance this guy is a computer  geek . A hacker maybe or just somebody who knows how to manipulate code or was involved in developing the app platform at some point. Darcy and I are still digging around to see what we can find in the guys who  created the app, but it looks like that they farmed out a lot of the coding to independent  developers .  There are lots of ways somebody could have backdoored something into the app without leaving a trail. There are just too many unanswered questions to pin down."

 

“Let's put the creepy factor aside and focus on the brass tacks.” Fury's voice cut across the room. “Peter and Craig,” he pointed at Phil and Clint, “have their first face to face meeting tonight at Twisted & Tied, that new place downtown. May and Wilson will be in the restaurant with eyes on you two at all times. The rest of us will be listening in from a surveillance van, and Mack will be waiting at the nearest subway platform as your backup for the ride home.”

 

“We're meeting for dinner and drinks at eight, with the understanding that this will be a get to know you date only.” Phil deliberately did not look in Clint's direction, the two hadn't been alone together since they were interrupted mid blow-job; what Phil really needed to find out was how it felt to come down Clint's throat. “When we set the date up through chat, I specifically said I'd need to go home alone because I have a work meeting first thing tomorrow morning.”

 

“So no matter how charming and irresistible I am, I'll be going home alone. Which makes me perfect bait for psycho sub.” Clint added.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Clint wiped his palms down his jeans one final time before pulling open the heavy door of Twisted & Tied. He was dressed for his “date” in dark jeans and a plain midnight blue dress shirt that fit his muscular frame like it was tailored for him. He'd unbuttoned the sleeves and rolled them back to reveal the heavy silver studded cuff he wore on his right hand. He had silver rings on several fingers, including the thumb ring that Phil had taken such notice of.

 

He'd had to forego his shoulder holster so he was armed only with his backup gun in an ankle holster and a wicked looking butterfly knife tucked in his back pocket.

 

He thought he looked good, or at least as good as he could look.  He just hoped Phil thought so too.

 

He gave his fake name to the hostess and followed her to the table in one dimly lit corner. Phil was already there, and the sight of him made Clint's mouth go dry. 

 

Phil was wearing his glasses, the dark frames making his blue eyes pop. He wore a black v neck sweater that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. He looked up and smiled at Clint, getting to his feet to pull the chair out for him like it was a real date and damn but didn't that make Clint's knees go a little weak.

 

Clint licked his lips. “Peter, right? I'm Craig.”

 

Phil took his proffered hand in both of his, his voice warm and rich. “Your photos don't do you justice.” He ran a thumb along Clint's knuckles and even that small touch was enough to make Clint breathe a little faster. Phil’s other hand wrapped around Clint’s wrist, giving him a firm squeeze.

 

Clint looked up at Phil through his eyelashes. “Thank you, Sir. You certainly don't disappoint either.”

 

With Phil’s hands on him, it was all too easy to forget that this was an undercover operation, and that he and ‘Peter’ were being monitored by not just half their SVU co-workers but possibly the suspect himself.  

 

At this point they weren’t sure if Live2Serve was actually in the restaurant, seated close enough to listen in or if he was lying in wait to attack ‘Craig’ after the date ended. Worse yet, he might not take the bait at all.

 

“Let’s get to know each other a little better then.” Phil said, giving Clint’s wrist another squeeze before motioning for him to take a seat.  

 

Clint slid into the chair and scooted in close as Phil took his seat across the small table. “I’ve never been here before, it’s not exactly what I expected.” He looked around under the guise of  checking out the restaurant but really he was taking note of the other patrons. They had deliberately chosen a new place for the ‘date’ to ensure that it wasn’t some place the suspect could have a connection, that left only the other customers to vet.

 

May and Wilson were at a table across the room. They looked totally absorbed in each other but Clint knew they were scoping out anyone who seemed suspicious.  

 

Even though Twisted & Tied had been open only a few weeks, nearly every table was full. The restaurant was tastefully decorated in shades of gray with a few red accents.  Framed prints of bondage scenes were on the wall, along with a few pieces of suggestive art and particularly artful toys. There was a low shelf a few feet above Phil’s head with an artfully arranged whip and flogger on display.

 

Phil cleared his throat, “It's my first time here too; a friend recommended it.” He looked at Clint over the top of his glasses as he waved the waiter over. “They even have menu items that specifically cater to subs and doms. What would you like to drink?”

 

Clint looked down at his hands, what he'd really like was a shot of whiskey but he was pretty sure that wouldn't be an acceptable ‘sub’ drink. This was the part of his dynamic that always seemed like a struggle. As much as he liked being able to drift into sub space under the control of the right dom, which was hard enough to find, he was terrible at the traditional sub part outside of a scene. “How about you choose for me?”

 

Phil quirked an eyebrow up, but nodded. “Sure, how about a bourbon neat for me and,” he looked at Clint consideringly. “The same for my companion. Unless you're prefer the white wine spritzer that's recommended for subs?” There was a trace of a smirk on Phil's face, as if he realized just how ridiculous the whole thing was.

 

“No, bourbon would be great.” Clint said. “Perfect, actually.”

 

They made careful small talk over the dinner menu while the waiter brought their drinks. Clint found it a little mind numbing to pretend that he didn't know anything about Phil and to play the part of a simpering sub eager to win a dom’s affection. Knowing every word of their conversation was being monitored made it hard for Clint to relax and play his part. He fidgeted with his napkin and silverware and tried to play it cool.

 

He started when Phil reached across the table and placed a steadying hand on his. “You seem nervous, Craig.” Phil's index finger rubbed across Clint's thumb ring. “I hope I'm not making you uncomfortable.”

 

 

At Phil's touch, Clint felt the tension that had been ratcheting up and making his shoulders tight start to melt away. “Sorry, it's just been a long time since I've hit it off with a dom.” The way Phil's finger brushed over him made Clint think about those hands moving with intent, fisting in his hair as he fed Clint his cock. Shit, Clint had been reliving those few stolen moments over and over since they were interrupted mid-blowjob. He looked up at Phil and licked his lips, “I keep thinking about the things we talked about on the app.”

 

Phil was about to say something when the waiter returned to take their order. Once again, ‘Craig’ let ‘Peter’ order for him. He only winced a little when Phil picked out a light salad, gazpacho and a vegetarian pasta dish – all of which were highly recommended on the sub menu. Phil's steak and potato order sounded much better, although Clint did worry about the man's cholesterol levels.

 

“I've spent a lot of time looking at the pictures you sent me,” Phil's voice was deep and heavy with meaning. “And wondering just how it would feel to take you down.” He lifted a hand to stroke along Clint's jaw. “I have a long list of things I'd like to do with your mouth.”

 

“Yeah?” Clint asked. He knew he sounded like one of those breathy little subs on the reality dating shows but he still couldn't stop himself from leaning into the touch. “I can be very task oriented, we could make our way through that list step by step.”

 

“I'd start with a kiss, I think,” Phil said, running his thumb along Clint's bottom lip. “Lick my way into your mouth and explore every inch.” He pressed his thumb into the center of Clint's lip until Clint obediently opened his mouth and let the tip slip in. “Then you could show me how nice your lips would look wrapped around my cock. Would you like that?”

 

Fuck, as if Phil didn't know how much Clint had liked taking him into his mouth. This was torture maybe, but two could play this game and right now Clint didn't give a good goddamn who was listening in. He sucked lightly on the pad of Phil's thumb, letting his tongue slide around it suggestively. He was rewarded by the way Phil's eyes went wide before he reluctantly pulled his hand away as the waiter arrived bearing food. “I’d like to show you everything I can do, Sir.”

 

“I think it’s safe to say that you‘ll get a chance to show me,” Phil said once the waiter had retreated. “I’m only sorry I can’t take you home with me tonight and put you on your knees.” 

 

Clint shivered at the words, all too aware of just how lovely it had been to go to his knees in Phil’s apartment.  As it was, his cock was hard in his jeans, his mouth watering at the thought of getting Phil’s dick in his mouth again. “I’m not so good at being patient, Sir.”

 

Phil's hand disappeared under the table to settle on Clint's thigh. “Soon enough, I'll have you at my mercy. Can't wait for the chance to test that patience of yours and hear how sweetly you beg.” His hand slid up an inch until his fingertips were just nudging Clint's erection.

 

Clint tried and failed to bite back a moan at the touch. His gaze locked with Phil's. They stayed like that a long moment, the heat and weight of Phil's touch centering Clint.

 

It was movement at the table next to them that finally broke the moment, both of them turning to watch as the waiter brought a plush kneeling cushion and arranged it on the floor. The young male sub seated at the table slid gracefully onto the cushion at the feet of his female dom. Phil and Clint watched in silence as she began to hand feed him, his total submission and trust apparent at the easy way he knelt for her attention.

 

Clint felt something turn over in his stomach at the sight. He wanted that, that ability to totally give up all his inhibitions. Not just in the context of a scene where the only goal was getting off, but anywhere and anytime his dom wanted it. This - whatever it was - between him and Phil, had been the first time he’d felt like there was a possibility. Maybe it was because for once they hadn’t rushed into the sex, but he already trusted Phil to have his best interests at heart, not just treat him like a willing sub for a quick fuck. Even if that's all this ended up being, Clint felt like he could trust Phil to be careful with him.

 

“Lovely, isn’t he?” Phil said quietly. Clint turned back and realized that Phil was watching him, those eyes that never missed a thing focused in on him. “Is that something you would like?”

 

Clint knew without a doubt that this was a question between Phil and Clint, not Peter and Craig. He gave a little nod. “I’ve never really had that before,” he paused, searching for the right words. “But I think I would like it very much with the right partner.” He swallowed back the brief panic he felt at his admission, Phil's touch grounding him.

 

Phil smiled at him, his hand giving Clint’s thigh a squeeze. “My thoughts exactly.”

 

They lingered over dinner and drinks long enough to cement the impression that they were both smitten. Phil’s hand stayed on his leg and Clint found that the touch kept him focused… and hard as a rock. 

 

Fake or not, the “date” was turning out to be the best one Clint had in years. Dates weren't high on the list with most of the doms he'd been involved with.  

 

The frown on his face when Phil paid the check was real, Clint hated for this part of the evening to end.

 

They walked together to the street, saying reluctant goodbyes. Mindful of their audience, Phil gave Clint only the briefest of kisses, barely brushing their lips together. “I’m afraid if I kiss you how I want to we’ll never make it home.” He slid a hand around Clint’s waist and gave him a squeeze before stepping back. “My work thing should be all wrapped up by tomorrow night if you want to do this again.”

 

Clint was pretty sure that was Phil’s way of saying one way or another they would get to finish what they started in Phil’s apartment a few days earlier. “I’d love to do this and a whole lot more as soon as possible.”  

 

“Great, expect to hear from me tomorrow then.” Phil gave him a final glance before turning to make it appear that he was headed in the opposite direction. In reality, he would double back after a block or so and get picked up by the surveillance van. “Be careful.”

 

“Sure,” Clint nodded. “You too.” He turned to walk his pre-planned route. Time to put Phil out of his mind and concentrate on the possibility of attack from the suspect.

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

 

 

 

Clint took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. It was showtime.  As much as he wanted to run after Phil and beg him to take him home right now, he had a job to do. 

 

The surveillance on him wasn’t obtrusive, but he knew that there were a couple of  undercover cops dotted along the route to his apartment looking out for him. Mostly, Clint just wanted to find a quiet alleyway, sink back against the wall and jerk off. That didn’t seem like the wisest plan with various members of the force watching him, not to mention the unidentified weirdo crazy sub hopefully following him.

 

He started walking to the subway, carefully making sure not to make eye contact with Mack when he saw him waiting on the platform. At least if he got attacked there, he’d have some decent back up. He sat on a train and looked at his phone, scrolling through emails but not really seeing anything; he was much too focused on the other people around him - could the perp be one of his fellow passengers? He had to be, but none of them seemed to be paying Clint any special attention. 

 

Mack stayed put when Clint got off, and Clint didn’t recognise anyone else as he went through the turnstiles and headed up the stairs to the street. Outside he could feel the sensation of someone’s eyes on him making his skin crawl, the eyes of whoever it was that did all that terrible stuff to the victims Clint interviewed. A part of him was scared that he might be taken anyway, that all this planning would be for nothing when he got dragged off someplace and brutalised by some fucked up asshole. The thought of Phil searching for him - saving him - did strange things to his stomach.

 

The night air was crisp, and the streets grew quieter and quieter as he kept walking home. There were fewer places for undercover cops to look inconspicuous around there. Clint knew he was more exposed, more vulnerable to attack here. He shoved his hands in his pocket and hunched his shoulders, reminding himself not to walk too fast or it’d look too obvious.

 

“Hey,” said a man’s voice from behind, and Clint froze. 

 

He turned slowly, hands in his pockets already balled into fists. In front of him was a man in a suit holding a bunch of  white  flowers. He had dark hair and mediterranean - or maybe middle-eastern - features, and he would be handsome if it weren’t for the odd aura about him. He looked like he was trying to act like a dom... but wasn’t one. 

 

“Can I help you?” Clint asked. 

 

“Craig, right?” The man said, smiling and moving closer. Clint stayed where he was - he couldn’t take the guy down before he showed some sign of being their perp, and so far, he hadn’t. They didn’t want to wind up in legal tangles about how this guy was just being “ _friendly.”_

 

At Clint’s frown, the man held out the hand that wasn’t holding the  bouquet . In the second between Clint glancing at the man’s hand and then back up at his face, the hand with the flowers moved to shove  them towards him. Clint leapt back, narrowly avoiding the mist of vapour coming from the  white blooms , but the man was fast, the smile on his face turning ugly as he darted forward and waved the bouquet. 

 

“What  the hell are you doing?” Clint yelled, though if he hadn’t been waiting for some back up (not to mention witnesses) to show up he might have just run - or pulled his gun.

 

“I’m trying to be nice,” the man said, “A pretty sub like you ought to like flowers. Don’t you want to smell them, Craig? I picked them especially for you. Don’t be ungrateful.” 

 

Clint played dumb. “What’s that stuff coming out of them?” 

 

“Perfume,” said the man, and then he was reaching into his jacket. His eyes were dark as he stared Clint down and pulled a gun out. His voice turned hard. “Smell them. I promise you’ll like it.” 

 

Where the hell was everyone? Where was his back-up?

 

“What’ll happen?” 

 

“I’ll take care of you. Give you what you need.”

 

Clint hesitated; if he went for his ankle holster, the man might shoot him before he’d even got the safety off. If he ‘smelled the flowers’ he’d probably pass out from whatever the hell that stuff was. But the man wasn’t exactly giving him a compelling reason for doing the latter. 

 

He decided to casually reach for the knife in his back pocket and hope the man didn’t notice, then he could pretend to go for the flowers, hold his breath and (hopefully) get the upper hand.

 

“I don’t like waiting, Craig.”

 

Clint slowly stepped forward, holding his breath as he neared the  bouquet the man was pushing his way. He could see in between the stems of the flowers from this close; there was some kind of apparatus that was spraying something out towards him. 

 

“Closer,” the man ordered, waving the gun. 

 

Clint did as he was told before grabbing for the gun and kneeing the guy in the balls, the flowers falling to the ground. They struggled, the man far stronger than he at first appeared to be, scrabbling for the gun where it had landed on the pavement a few feet away. Clint wanted nothing more than to lay into the guy, force him to confess everything he had done, everything he had been planning to do to, but he knew that could hurt the case in the end, and he wasn’t about to have gone through all of this for nothing. So he kept up the fight til they were both just brawling like drunkards trying to get the upper hand. 

 

“Clint!” yelled a voice from somewhere, followed by a punch to the side of the head when he made the mistake of looking to see who had finally shown up. 

 

“Where were you guys?” Clint  demanded , grabbing for the perp’s hands and pressing them back against the pavement. The man bucked up, and Clint thought he was just trying to throw him off, realising with a cringe that the guy was hard, apparently getting off on it all.

 

“Long story, sorry,” said Phil, kneeling and helping to hold the man down. Relief flooded over Clint at having his dom - and back up - to help. Some tiny part of Clint’s brain was worried for the state of Phil’s trousers - he shouldn’t have to kneel on the damn ground to restrain this asshole. 

 

The man’s face was twisted into some strange combination of ecstasy and horror, his movements halfway between trying to get free and trying to rub his erection on anything nearby. 

 

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Clint said in wonder  and disgust . 

 

“Please,” the man said. “Make me hurt, make me bleed.” 

 

Phil met Clint’s eye and they exchanged wry looks before Phil put on his sternest voice and pointed a finger right at the man’s face. “Stop it. Be a good boy.” 

 

Equal parts lust and jealousy rolled through Clint. Lust because holy hell, Phil was hot when he really used his dom voice, jealousy because it was directed at someone else. The man went limp beneath them and he closed his eyes. “Yes, Sir,” he breathed.

 

“Is everyone alright here?” asked Maria. Clint looked up and realised she and half the squad had arrived, guns trained on the man. Someone threw Clint some handcuffs and he happily snapped them around the perp’s wrists as Phil read him his rights. The man didn’t respond as he was led into the waiting car, except to whisper “Thank you, Sir,” every time Phil did or said anything to him. Clint shuddered at the thought of him getting his jollies from _his_ dom, feeling a hitherto unexplored possessive streak burning inside him. 

 

Clint let rip about everyone leaving him on his goddamn own, but calmed when he realized the surveillance van had been held up by a wreck several blocks from the attack scene.  Thank god, Phil had jumped out of the van and charged to the rescue on foot. 

 

Maria got Clint’s initial statement as May and Wilson started tagging and bagging evidence around them. It was just the basics - the full report could be done tomorrow - but Clint did his best to answer her questions truthfully and in depth. After the adrenaline rush of the fight - not to mention the barely-there dinner he’d had at the restaurant - he was fading fast. He didn’t have much patience for the EMT Maria was adamant he should let see to him. 

 

“I suggest you let somebody look at that graze,” said Phil from behind him, and Clint barely caught Maria’s smirk as he whipped around to catch sight of his dom. He knew it wasn’t exactly professional but he dashed forward to wrap himself around Phil, holding on for dear life and whimpering when Phil hugged back just as tightly. 

 

“I thought you weren’t coming,” Clint mumbled against Phil’s neck, and he was glad it came out as muffled as it did because it was an embarrassing thing to confess. Clint was a grown man, he could handle himself without a dom to help him. 

 

Phil shushed him, leaning away far enough to meet Clint’s eyes. “I’ll always come for you, ok? I promise.” 

 

Clint couldn’t respond even if he’d known what to say, because then Phil was kissing him deep and tender, and warmth suffused Clint’s body as he opened himself up to Phil’s affection. 

 

They only broke apart when Clint realised a variety of their colleagues were making kissing noises at them and laughing, glancing over to catch Maria handing a smug looking Mack a wad of cash. He felt himself blushing but decided he didn’t care. He had Phil’s arms around him and felt like he could take on the world, blush or no.

 

Phil somehow convinced Clint to let the EMT see to him, patiently sitting still as he had lights shone in his eyes and had his reflexes checked. He might not have been quite so patient had Phil not been standing a few feet away, gazing at him like he was perfect. 

 

The EMT gave Clint a clean bill of health, dressing the minor cuts Clint had sustained with tiny butterfly stitches. 

 

“Can we go home, now?” Clint asked plaintively as he hopped out of the ambulance, using his puppydog eyes to full effect on Phil, as though Phil was calling the shots when they both knew it was Maria who was running the op.

 

Phil slid his arm around Clint’s waist for the briefest of squeezes, as if he couldn’t help himself. “Soon. I don’t think you should be alone tonight. Do you want to come home with me?” 

 

Clint looked at him like he was a mad man. “Are you kidding me?” 

 

Phil grinned, reaching towards him but then stopping himself when he noticed Captain Fury was standing beside them. 

 

“Perp’s name is Bakshi, according to the information in his wallet,” said Nick, and the other cops milling about stopped to listen too. “He’s not talking but May and Wilson are already working him over for information back at the precinct. Detective Barton, on behalf of the city of New York, thank you for your courageous efforts tonight, and thank you to the rest of the team. You’ve all done a great job. Now, anyone who doesn’t need to be at this crime scene, I suggest you go home, kiss your loved ones and get some sleep. See you bright and early tomorrow. There will be donuts.” 

 

There was a smattering of applause and then the crowd gradually dispersed, leaving Clint and Phil on their own. Clint really wanted to get the hell off of the damn street already - he was planning on never ever taking this route again. Besides, all that adrenaline, plus seeing Phil put on his brief display of dominance when they were taking the perp down (not to mention how Clint wanted to erase the thought of Bakshi from Phil’s thoughts), had Clint itching to get Phil somewhere private and finish what they started a few days ago. 

 

“Take me home,” Clint said, voice coming out as a whisper when he definitely didn’t intend it to. 

 

Phil nodded and took Clint’s hand. 

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

The whole cab ride back to his place, Phil could feel the energy coming off of Clint in waves - he was like a dog in heat, craving something Phil wanted so badly to give him. Ideas flitted through his mind - Clint tied up in beautiful ropes, hard and leaking and pleading to come. Clint on his knees, naked but for Phil’s collar, locked in a cock cage as he dutifully sucked Phil’s cock. Clint learning to come just from easing himself onto Phil’s dick, riding himself into oblivion. There were other, less lurid fantasies, though no less arousing, of Clint kneeling by Phil’s chair to be hand fed slices of fruit, chasing the sweet juice over Phil’s fingers before sucking on them greedily. Clint formally taking Phil’s collar and wearing it under his clothes at work. Clint sleeping in his bed and waking up when Phil kissed him...

 

But these fantasies would have to wait: Clint had just been in a fight, been held at gunpoint and been injured, all of which Phil felt at least partly responsible for. The thought of some fucked up asshole touching Clint, trying to harm him, had Phil fighting with himself not to launch across the cab to stake his claim, make Clint his and his alone. 

 

No, Phil had to remain level headed and put Clint to bed. He’d always prided himself on being a good dom, and it wouldn’t be fair on Clint to dive head first into this under these circumstances. No, he wanted to take his time and ascertain exactly where each of their boundaries lay before truly making Clint his sub. He didn’t want to get into a scene and accidentally trigger Clint with something they hadn’t discussed, muddying the waters of what promised to be an excellent pairing. He wanted to do this right.

 

Of course, the moment they got in the door of Phil’s apartment, Clint was on his knees and mouthing at the front of Phil’s pants. 

 

“Fuck, I need it, please,” Clint gasped against the fabric, Phil’s cock hard despite himself. He needed it just as badly, but there were other things to do first. 

 

“Clint, get up,” Phil said, smiling when Clint whined on his way to his feet. 

 

“We’re going to take a shower, and then we’re going to go to bed. Ok?” When Clint opened his mouth, eyebrow quirked, Phil cut him off. “We’re not having sex tonight. You need sleep and I need to make sure you’re alright.” 

 

“Let me suck you off, Phil, haven’t I earned it?” 

 

Phil growled as he relented and let himself steal a filthy kiss, hands cupping Clint’s face. 

 

“You’ve more than earned it, Clint, but when I give you what you want - what you need - I want you at your best. Well fed, well slept, ready for everything I want to give you. And-” he added as Clint seemed to be about to protest again, “- we’re going to have a Negotiation.” 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Clint snuggled closer to the warm body in bed beside him. He was laying on his side with his face tucked into the crook of Phil's neck, a tantalizing stretch of bare throat inches from his lips. He could smell the spicy scent of Phil's soap and grinned when he realized that _he_ smelled like Phil's soap too. They'd both showered before bed, but unfortunately not together. Phil was proving to be worrisomely immune to Clint's puppy dog eyes.

 

The highlight of Clint's night had been climbing into bed with a bare-chested Phil Coulson who'd been clad in nothing but a pair of faded gray sleep pants that did nothing to disguise the heavy length of his cock resting against one thigh. Only Phil's firm reminder about “negotiations” and sheer exhaustion had kept Clint from shedding his own pair of borrowed sleep pants and begging Phil to fuck him.

 

And the bed, damn, if Clint had any lingering questions about how far Phil went on the dominance scale, seeing Phil's bed had put them to rest. The king sized bed was the focal point of the large bedroom, a gorgeous four-poster bed of dark wood. It looked like nothing more than a beautiful piece of furniture until you got close enough to notice the strategically placed dark metal o-rings and restraint holds built into the frame and at various points on each of the four posts.  Even half dead on his feet the night before, Clint had registered the silk ropes and padded cuffs folded neatly on the bottom shelf of one of the matching nightstands.

 

Restraints, bondage, whatever - had always been near the bottom of Clint's list of enjoyable things. There'd been too many doms who used it as a way to get around his objections, tying him down and then doing whatever they damn well pleased no matter if Clint was agreeable or not. He'd had a fleeting thought about what it would feel like for Phil to tie him up, to take away his control completely, before he succumbed to sleep.

 

As the early morning light filtered through the windows on either side of Phil's bed, Clint let himself enjoy the all too foreign sensation of being held. Phil was on his back with one arm draped around Clint's shoulders. His other hand was meshed with Clint's, his palm against the back of Clint's hand with their fingers twined together. Their joined hands rested on Phil's lower belly. Clint could feel the firm muscles of Phil's stomach under his hand, the soft trail of hair there brushing against the pads of his fingers.

 

Fuck, but this man was sexy.

 

Clint had known Phil for a little over a month and he'd thought he was hot from the moment he'd laid eyes on him. That feeling had grown exponentially with each passing day. Phil was all buttoned up control, the perfect mix of hard-edged dom and sweet caretaker that made Clint's knees go a little weak. And now Clint was in his bed, with nothing standing between his mouth and Phil's cock but a thin layer of worn cotton...and Phil's prerequisite negotiation talk.

 

Clint rolled his eyes and barely bit back a snort. He wasn't keen on wasting hours talking about fucking when they could actually _be_ fucking. He was more the ‘figure it out as we go along’ type. Sure, that ended up biting him in the ass. Literally, on occasion; once he ended up with stitches on his left ass cheek because of some over zealous dom. But the way Clint figured it, leaving his boundaries nebulous meant that he could change his mind at any time if he didn't like the direction things were going. He didn't want to accidently negotiate himself out of a scene. Besides, he rarely bothered sticking around for a round two with doms. Those early years with Trickshot had taught him that doms weren't looking for permanent with him.

 

Phil had seemed pretty firm about the negotiations coming before anything else. Although… when Clint had shown up at his apartment after all the sexting on the SubBuzz app, Phil hadn't demanded negotiations before letting Clint go to his knees for him. The element of surprise had worked then.

 

Maybe Clint should give him a proper ‘surprise’ good morning. Clint licked his lips and angled his head up to look at Phil's face. Phil was still sleeping peacefully, face relaxed and calm. Yeah, Clint thought, as he carefully untangled his fingers and slid his hand away from Phil's, Phil would probably forget all about that negotiation stuff once Clint got his lips wrapped around that beautiful cock.

 

Phil let out a little disapproving grunt in his sleep as Clint moved down the bed, his mouth turning down at the corners before it smoothed back out. Clint settled himself between Phil's legs and carefully reached up to ease the waistband of Phil's sleep pants down his hips. The pants were old, the elastic stretched and worn and Clint had no trouble inching them down.

 

As he exposed each bit of new skin, Clint felt his own desire grow. Phil was a few years older than him, he guessed somewhere in his mid-forties based on the little bits of silver that wound through his hair and the lines at the corners of his eyes. His body was all hard muscle though. He wasn't as built up gym-time buff as Clint, but he was lean sinewy strength, muscles that were developed through running and push-ups and hand to hand combat. And the man had a gorgeous cock. Even soft it was impressive, and Clint's mouth started to water as he pulled Phil's pants far enough down to expose the length of it.

 

Clint reached out eager fingers to wrap around it and bent his head to take the plump head in his mouth. It was heavy on his tongue, and he savored the musky taste that was uniquely Phil as he gently sucked at the head and flicked the slit in the end. He opened his mouth as wide as he could and swallowed, trying to get as much of Phil's cock into his mouth as he could while he was still soft. Phil's dick was already starting to harden though, growing stiffer by the second, nudging at Clint’s throat.

 

Clint moaned around the swelling cock in his mouth, he loved the feeling of it filling him up. Phil's dick was big, the head almost enough to choke him as it slid against the back of his throat. The length of it meant Clint couldn't take it all at this angle, he'd have to be in the right position to deep throat so that Phil could really fuck his face.

 

He'd need to be on his knees with Phil in front of him thrusting into his mouth hard and fast, just like that night in Phil's apartment when they'd been interrupted. God, he wanted that. Wanted Phil to bury both hands in his hair and fuck him with that big cock halfway down his throat until Clint was struggling to breathe and tears were running down his face. He wanted Phil to take him out of his head and tear everything away until Clint was nothing but the willing place where Phil sought his pleasure.

 

Clint moaned when Phil shifted beneath him, his legs spreading open and one hand sliding down to stroke softly against Clint's cheek. Phil's dick was fully hard now, and Clint greedily tried to take more and more of it in as Phil started to thrust up into his mouth. His own cock was rigid in the thin sleep pants, steadily leaking as Clint ground his crotch against the bed and tried to swallow Phil down.

 

He could taste the first drops of Phil's precome starting to fill his mouth and Clint pressed his tongue to the underside of the head and sucked hard as he bobbed his head back and forth. God, he wanted a mouthful of Phil's come, a bellyful of it, he wanted it dripping down his chin. He made eager little sounds as he moved faster and faster, his fist coming up to wrap around the base of Phil's thick cock. The world was narrowing down, everything going hazy and dark as Clint focused on making Phil come.

 

The harsh tug of Phil's hand tangling in his hair and pulling him away made Clint cry out in frustration. One second he was teetering on that lovely knife edge of oblivion and the next he was flat on his back with Phil above him.

 

“What the fuck, Phil?” Clint tried to push up against the arms that were pressing him into the bed. “That's a fine thank you for a blowjob.”

 

Phil glared down at him, his jaw tight, the hard length of his cock pressed against Clint's thigh. “Did you forget what I said about negotiations?” His hands were clamped down on Clint's elbows and he looked… furious.

 

Fuck. This was not the reaction Clint had been hoping for.

 

Clint changed tactics, letting his eyes fall half closed and his body go lax. The picture of a perfect submissive. He looked up at Phil through his eyelashes. “Sorry, Sir. I guess I forgot.”

 

Phil's mouth quirked. “Nice try, but I'm not buying it.” He shifted up, letting go of his hold on Clint's arms and levering himself up. He kicked off his pants and straddled Clint's hips completely naked, the cleft of his bare (and frankly fabulous) ass nestled right up against Clint's cock with only Clint's borrowed sleep pants separating them. “I think you need to be taught a lesson.”

 

Clint swallowed, the urge to rut his dick against Phil's ass nearly overwhelming. “This supposed to be punishment?” He croaked. “Because I gotta tell you, you can punish me like this anytime you want.” He brought his hands up to rest on Phil's hips and yeah, if he pushed down with his hands just a little bit and up with his hips he could probably come in about twenty seconds flat. The view alone was close to pushing him over the edge, Phil's dick was standing straight out. The head was flushed almost purple, a slick dribble of precome dripping from the tip.

 

“Hands above your head.” Phil ordered, his voice dropping down into the dominant tone that made a shiver run down Clint's spine. “Or do I need to tie you?” His knees pressed against Clint's ribs with a steady pressure that made Clint want to see just how strong Phil was.

 

Only the look in Phil's eyes and the warning in his voice made Clint realize he was skirting awfully close to the edge. “Yes, Sir,” he said at last and lifted his hands off Phil's hips and stretched them out above his head on the bed.

 

“Good boy,” Phil said, a smile tugging at his lips as Clint complied. He settled himself into the cradle of Clint's hips, grinding his ass against Clint's dick in the process. “Now, since you so clearly ignored what I said about having the negotiation talk before we went any further you'll take what I give you and be happy with it. Is that understood?” Phil tightened his thighs around Clint's hips and waited until Clint gave a wary nod before continuing.

 

Phil reached down and wrapped a hand around his cock, giving it a long slow stroke that made Clint's mouth water. His elegant fingers worked his cock expertly, hand fisting down tightly as his fingertips slid up over the head to gather the precome there. “You've been asking to suck my dick since practically the day we met.” He leaned forward and smeared his wet finger across Clint's bottom lip, a dark smile crossing his face when Clint immediately licked his lip clean. “But you've just gotten little tastes so far. Haven't really been able to show me what you can do with that talented mouth of yours.” Phil smeared another drop of precome across his finger and this time he didn't just wipe his finger on Clint's lip, but pressed it inside and let Clint suck on it.

 

Clint groaned when Phil pulled his finger away; this was torture.

 

Phil started stroking his cock again. “But since you can't follow directions, I guess you'll have to wait a little longer to suck me off.” He shifted his hips back against Clint's dick. “I'm going to show you what you're missing.” He reached his other hand down and ran it along Clint's stomach and up to his chest. He traced an idle pattern along Clint's chest with the flat of one fingernail, pressing just hard enough to sting while his other hand slid up and down the length of his dick.

 

“I think I'll come right here.” Phil said, splaying all five fingers out and scratching down the center of Clint's chest. “Cover you with my come and then rub it in so you know just who you belong to.” He rocked against Clint's dick again, a teasing back and forth that had Clint teetering on the edge.

 

“Please,” Clint begged and he didn't know quite what he was begging for. He wanted Phil to fuck his face, he wanted Phil to come all over him, he wanted Phil to let him come. He wanted it all.

 

Phil arched an eyebrow, his fingernail scraping hard across one of Clint's nipples. “What's wrong? Do you want to come?” He stroked himself faster, a steady stream of precome dribbling from the end of his dick as his hand slid up and down its length. “Bad boys don't get to come, Clint. You have to earn that privilege.” 

 

Phil pinched Clint's nipple hard as he started to shoot across his chest, the hot splash of his come making Clint arch up. Clint could feel it painting his chest and neck, one spot landing on his cheek.

 

“Fuck,” Clint ground out, just barely holding back the orgasm that threatened. It was so good, damn it, even this was good. Being brought to the very edge and denied. He felt like every muscle in his body was locked up as he fought the urge to let go.

 

It was like he was drifting in a sea with nothing tethering him to the world except Phil Coulson.

 

Moments passed and Clint became aware of Phil's hands moving over his chest. Phil was rubbing his come into his skin, Clint realized. That made his painfully hard cock give another twitch. Clint was breathing hard, his breath shallow and fast and he felt for all the world like he'd just run a race. God, it was… it was awesome.

 

His hazy eyes focused on the man still kneeling above him. Phil looked really fucking pleased with himself. “Hey,” Clint managed.

 

“Hey,” Phil replied. He continued to rub his cooling come into Clint's chest and throat, leaning forward and rubbing his thumb across the patch on Clint's cheek until he was satisfied that it was rubbed in as well. Then he sat back and gave Clint an examining look. “How do you feel?” 

 

Clint blinked and thought about the question - on the one hand he felt like his balls were about to explode and his chest felt kinda gross. On the other…

 

“Amazing.” 

 

Phil looked pleased at that. “You hungry? Need a drink?”

 

“Yeah, that would be good.” Clint said. He glanced at the clock on Phil's bedside table. “Shit, I guess we're supposed to be on our way to the precinct by now.” He gave Phil a shy grin. “Mind if I take a quick shower? We can grab some coffee on the way in.”

 

Phil grinned back at him. “Coffee and donuts, I know just the place. But no shower.” He gave Clint's thigh a hard slap as he levered himself up. “Get dressed. I want to look at you all day and know you're wearing my come on your skin.”

 

Clint pressed his hand against his dick and shuddered. It was going to be a long ass day.


	13. Chapter 13

Considering that Clint was the one to have been denied an orgasm that morning, Phil felt like _he_ was the one being torturously denied as he watched Clint absently scratch at his chest or shift in his seat during the day. He kept having to ask Melinda to repeat her questions as she interviewed him, because he was too distracted by the sight of Clint talking to Sam, biting his lips as he considered his answers.

 

“Do I need to find an interview room, Phil?” Melinda asked, and Phil laughed at himself, dragging his eyes away from his sub… and he supposed he could call Clint that now, couldn’t he? He was marked up as Phil’s after all.

 

After moving his chair so he wouldn’t so easily be distracted by Clint, they wrapped up the interview quickly, getting Phil’s statement out of the way. Phil was slightly disappointed at having to hand off the case to May and Wilson, but as he and Clint had been involved in taking the perp down, it would be too much of a conflict of interest to have them write up the case as well. Still, he knew that they’d do a good job; Phil would trust May with his life, and she trusted Wilson, which was good enough for him.

 

Phil still had to write up his report, a couple of other documents handing over the case and a further document he had to ask Skye to help him find: a commendation request form. It was a formality, really, but Phil wanted to formally recommend to Fury that Clint receive recognition for his work in bringing down the perp. He hadn’t felt this proud since Natasha made senior detective.

 

As the precinct had gotten such a win last night, the whole team went out for a special celebratory lunch, followed by donuts back at the office. Of course, that was a special form of torture all its own, with Phil sitting opposite Clint and being in prime position to watch Clint lick his lips and swallow, his lascivious glances giving no doubt as to what his true thoughts were. When Phil went to use the bathroom at the restaurant, Clint rather predictably followed, grinning at Phil when he was backed up against the wall and told to behave.

 

“You keep this up and I won’t let you come for days,” Phil warned, lips millimetres away from Clint’s ear. He wanted to bite Clint’s earlobe, suck it into his mouth and tug, but it was all he could do to restrain himself - if he let himself start he wasn’t sure where he’d stop. The last thing Phil wanted was for one of their co-workers to walk in and see them going at it over the urinals. Besides, he wanted to do this properly - Clint wasn’t some one-night sub, Clint was something special, someone Phil could actually see a future with. Clint was a gorgeous piece of marble, waiting to be carved into perfection at Phil’s hands. If only he could get him to behave...

 

Clint whined and had the audacity to shift his hips, rubbing himself against Phil. Phil shoved Clint’s hip back with one hand before moving to fondle Clint’s cock and balls through his jeans, making Clint gasp as Phil gripped him and squeezed. “I can cage you if that’s what it takes,” he murmured, leaning away to track Clint’s expression. Clint frowned momentarily before nodding. 

 

“Whatever you want, Sir,” he said. 

 

Phil almost stepped away, because that right there was why negotiations were so important, but he couldn’t resist stepping closer. He let go of Clint’s crotch to cup his face gently and kiss him, just once, and chastely at that, despite Clint’s tongue peeking out and trying to find its way in.

 

“Think about what you want,” Phil said, stepping away and subtly readjusting himself. “And when we get home we’re going to do this properly.” 

 

He let himself take one last lingering look up and down Clint’s body before heading back out to their friends, leaving Clint to compose himself before joining them.

 

The afternoon was no better than the morning. Clint sat at his desk beside Phil, filling out paperwork before placing each piece neatly on the corner of Phil’s desk. Phil quietly thanked him for each one with a ‘good boy’, which meant that by the time they were done, they were both wound up tight and about ready to pounce on one another. The few times they were interrupted by someone coming by to congratulate them on their case, their little bubble was popped, and Phil would excuse himself to get coffee or go to the bathroom in an attempt to clear his head. However, as soon as he was back at his desk his thoughts were once again set to a backdrop of _ClintClintClintClintClint_.

 

As the working day drew to a close, Phil could feel a new kind of tension building between him and Clint. One of anticipation and possibly a little bit of apprehension. What if all this build-up wasn’t going to work out in the end? What if they had irreconcilable differences once the negotiation was worked over? _God_ , Phil suddenly thought, _perhaps Clint’s never had a formal negotiation before._ That thought - that he might be the first person to do this with Clint, the first person to truly take the time to learn what makes this beautiful sub feel good - took him through to the end of the day, and he began drawing up lists in his head as he replied to congratulatory emails and sent a few of his own to other members of the team.

 

“Are you still here?” said Fury at around 5.30, making Phil jump in surprise. Fury was good at sneaking up on people like that. It was his most annoying feature as far as Phil was concerned. “Three days leave, starting now.”

 

When Phil and Clint looked at each other and then back at Nick, Nick rolled his eye. “Did I stutter?”

 

As they both uttered surprised thank-yous in Fury’s direction and began movements to pack up and go home, Nick smiled and brought out something from behind his back before handing it to Phil. 

 

“Sir?” 

 

“Open it when you get home. I assume you’re going home together?” 

 

Phil was aware of Clint fidgeting beside him and he fought back a smile. “I believe so.” 

 

“Take good care of him, Barton,” Fury said, and with a swish of his obnoxiously long leather coat, he was gone. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Clint watched Fury stalk across the squad room with a little knot of apprehension in his belly. It had never particularly bothered him for people to know who he was or wasn't subbing for in the past, but this thing he was about to embark on with Phil felt like something completely different. It didn't feel like a casual scene culminating in a casual fuck but like it was building toward an actual relationship.

 

Only Clint didn't do relationships. He fucked things up if he let it go past the physical. He was no good at anything long-term.  There were expectations here and for once Clint found that he really didn't want to fuck it up.

 

“Hey,” Phil said. “Are you ready to go? You heard the man, three days mandatory leave.” Phil was watching him with those intense blue eyes that didn't miss a thing. Christ, sometimes Clint felt like Phil had some kind of weird x-ray vision that allowed him to see just when Clint needed a little push.

 

“Yeah, I'm ready.” Clint rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, the motion making the snug fabric of his borrowed shirt pull tight across his bicep. He'd put on last night's jeans this morning but after the altercation with the perp, his dress shirt hadn't been salvageable. Spending the day with Phil's come rubbed into his skin and wearing one of Phil's shirts had been two less than subtle reminders about just who he'd be going to his knees for.

 

Phil's eyes skimmed along Clint's body and he stepped around the desk before laying a hand on Clint's shoulder. “I'm going to get my personal car out of the garage since we're off for a few days. Grab what you need and meet me out front.”

 

“I should go home first and get some clothes,” Clint suggested. “And then come by your place.”

 

Phil's hand tightened down on his shoulder and he leaned in close. “You won't be needing many clothes for what I have in mind. Besides, I like seeing you in my things.”

 

Clint gave a little shiver at the look of promise in Phil's eyes. “Yes, Sir.”

 

Phil smiled at him and then pulled his hand back and straightened up. “Or if you still think you need to pick up some things, I can run you by your place. Unless you need some time on your own?” There was an unspoken question in Phil's eyes and Clint knew the other man was giving him an out.

 

As if. Apprehensive or not, Clint was planning on being spread open on the end of Phil's cock before the night was over.

 

“No, I'll meet you out front.” Clint pushed back from the desk. “I'll raid my locker and borrow anything else I need from you, Sir.”

 

“Good boy,” Phil said softly. He gave Clint a little smile before he turned to go and it was all Clint could do to keep from trailing after him like a puppy.

 

He shook his head as he headed toward the locker room. Damn, he had it bad.

 

 

*

 

The ride to Phil's apartment was made in relative silence. Clint made a few appreciative comments over Phil's personal vehicle, a mint condition classic red convertible. But mostly he just sat back and watched how Phil's hands moved over the steering wheel and the gearshift. It wouldn't be long until Clint would feel those hands moving over his body, working him just as efficiently as Phil drove the car.

 

Phil pulled the car to a stop along the curb outside a small Italian restaurant but left it idling. “I called an order in on my way to the garage. Figured neither of us cared for another night out after last night.” He opened the door and slid out. “I'll be back in a few.”

 

Clint nodded and watched as Phil ducked into the restaurant. He was impressed that Phil had the foresight to do any planning. Clint himself was a bundle of nerves. He'd been half-hard all day and every second seemed to ratchet up the tension between them. The whole negotiation talk thing was starting to chafe at him, looming like some big obstacle in the way of getting what he wanted – namely Phil's dick inside him.

 

He was terrible at the talking part. What if the talking part was a total deal breaker, and Clint's inability to articulate down to every detail made Phil reconsider the whole thing? Fuck. Clint wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans.

 

Phil appeared at the restaurant door with a large sack in his arms and Clint took a calming breath when the panic that had been building immediately started to recede. Just looking at Phil made him feel better. And that meant that...

 

Yeah, one way or another Clint was definitely fucked.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Phil unlocked the door to his apartment and waved Clint in ahead of him. Clint was clearly wound up tight and he didn't think it was just from being horny all day. Hell, they'd both spent most of the last _month_ horny.

 

He set the bag of food on the bar and waited for Clint to drop the small duffle bag he'd had in his work locker at his feet. Clint was doing that thing, the nervous habit he had of rubbing his fingers across the thumb ring he wore on his right thumb. It was a tell, a hint at just how out of sorts he was feeling.

 

“Make yourself at home,” Phil said as he internally debated on the most effective way to get Clint to relax. They needed to talk but Clint was so keyed up Phil was afraid he wouldn't be able to focus and he needed Clint's full attention. “I'm just going to make myself a little more comfortable.” 

 

Phil shrugged out of his suit jacket and hung it on the back of one of the dining room chairs before unbuttoning his shirt sleeves and rolling them up. He reached up and pulled the knot out of his tie and draped it over the chair with his jacket before undoing the top couple of buttons of his shirt.

 

He looked up to find that Clint was staring at him, his eyes focused in on the little bit of skin that Phil had uncovered. Clint would look down at Phil's exposed forearms and then up at the vee of skin at his throat and then back again, a flush on his cheeks. He'd stopped rubbing his thumb ring and instead his fists were clenched tightly at his sides. His cock made an impressive bulge in his jeans.

 

Clint met his eyes then and Phil noted the way that he automatically went into a classic submissive pose under his gaze. Clint moved so his hands were in front of him, fists relaxing and one hand loosely encircling his other wrist. His head was bowed but tilted to the side just enough to expose the long line of his throat on the side closest to Phil. Phil wanted to put his mark on that throat, leave it covered with bruises and bites that showed the world just who Clint belonged to. Clint looked up at him from under his eyelashes, his broad shoulders straining against the fabric of his borrowed shirt.

 

Shit, Clint was trying to show Phil that he could be _good_ , Phil realized. A spike of desire shot through him at the little display and it made his voice rough and low when he spoke. “Very pretty.” He held his hand out and crooked a finger at Clint. “Now, come here.”

 

When Clint got within touching distance Phil fisted his hand in the front of his shirt and dragged him in close. He pressed his face into the skin of Clint's neck and licked a trail from the base of his throat up to the curve of his jawline. Clint shivered against him and Phil wanted to crow with satisfaction at how responsive the gorgeous sub was to his touch. Instead he put his mouth against Clint's ear and whispered, “I can still smell myself on you, taste my own come on your skin. Did you like that? Like knowing anybody that got close enough could smell me on you?”

 

“Yeah,” Clint moaned, his hands coming up to clench around Phil's biceps. “God, Phil. My dick's been hard for hours thinking about how hot you were; how good it's going to be between us.”

 

Phil slid a hand down to knead Clint's cock through his jeans. “How about you take it out and stroke it right now? Ease a little of that tension that's got you so wound up?” He cupped Clint's dick and pressed his palm against it, bearing down with just the right amount of pressure to make him cry out. “You want to do that for me?”

 

Clint's stuttered out “n-no, Sir” took him by surprise. Phil drew back, looking at Clint's hazy eyes.

 

“No?”

 

Clint blinked and then shook his head. “I don't want to come until you're inside me.” He gave Phil another one of those looks from under a ridiculously long set of eyelashes. “I don't want to come until I get some part of you inside some part of me –“ Clint broke off, licked his lips. His voice was shaky, “Let me show you how good I can be. Use my mouth, use my ass. Let me come on your cock.”

 

Phil took a steadying breath and stepped away, making himself pull his hands away from Clint's too tempting body. “I could order you to do it. I _would_ order you to if we'd already had our talk. But even what I did this morning crossed some lines I shouldn't have crossed before we had our negotiation.”

 

Clint smirked at him, all signs of a sweet little sub falling away. Phil shouldn't find Clint's smart mouth and bad attitude so sexy. “Good thing we haven't had our talk yet then, Sir. Guess after we get this talking stuff out of the way you can order me to come however you want to.”

 

Phil smirked back at him and reached down to deliberately stroke his own cock through his suit pants, relishing the way Clint's eyes tracked the movement. “You're assuming you haven't just talked yourself out of your only chance to come in the next three days.” He took a little too much pleasure in the way Clint's eyes went really wide. “Now, take a shower while I set the food out and the we can eat while it's still hot. We can have our talk over dinner.”

 

Clint's “Yes, Sir” was only slightly subdued.

 


	14. Chapter 14

 

After a quick shower, they filled out most of the paperwork over dinner, with Clint growing increasingly agitated as they detailed anything that hadn’t been covered in their SubBuzz profiles - or things that had been slightly skewed to fit the algorithm of the site.  Most of the doms Clint had played with had been satisfied with knowing Clint's preferred safeword, but Phil had merely noted it down in the fancy Negotiation Books and moved on to the next subject.  And Christ, the thought that the matching leather bound books had been the little gift that Fury had handed Phil before sending them home was enough to kill his hard on.  

 

Almost.

 

He thought they were done then (at last!) and chewed a fingernail as Phil ushered him over to the sofa before buzzing around cleaning up after dinner.  Clint felt nervous - should he kneel? Stand at parade rest? He suddenly had a mental image of kneeling by Phil’s feet as Phil sat in the wingback chair near the book case, his fingers slowly stroking through Clint’s hair as he did something - read, watch TV, whatever. And perhaps Phil would turn a page or change the channel before unzipping his fly in silent command… 

 

He was knocked out of his reverie by the man himself, holding two glasses of what Clint was pretty sure was very expensive whiskey. 

 

“So, we should switch lists,” Phil said, handing Clint a glass before folding himself on the other end of the couch to face Clint, “and go through them separately first, making notes as we go.”

 

Clint suppressed an eyeroll; he thought they were done with writing stuff down. “How long do you think this is gonna take?” 

“Only a few hours,” Phil said imperiously, grinning when Clint couldn’t hold back a whine. “Twenty minutes. Then we can talk about specifics _and-_ ” he added when Clint’s eyebrows went even higher “-put some of the things we’re about to learn about each other to good use.” 

 

Clint slugged back his expensive whiskey and took a deep breath. “Bring it on.” 

 

Phil was nothing if not an excellent time keeper - they got through the lists detailed in the Negotiation Books and went over every detail of their safewords and safe-signals (if one of their mouths was otherwise occupied) in the  aforementioned twenty minutes. They spent another fifteen checking them against each other, the two of them side by side, Phil being proper and thorough and, if anything, a little clinical about the whole thing. Clint had half-prepared vague stories about why he didn’t like cuffs much or why he didn’t want to be humiliated, but Phil just nodded and ticked each one off as though taking a register in class. 

 

There were a few things on Phil’s list that were marked as no-go areas, and Clint wanted to ask about those, partly out of curiosity and partly because they were things he rather enjoyed. He liked the idea of Phil at least exploring watersports with him, but it was marked a 1 on Phil’s lists, and they didn’t mention it the same way they didn’t talk about anything that wasn’t around the mid-range or above for both of them. 

 

Phil, ever-observant, must have noticed the cogs turning in Clint’s head because he paused mid-tick and turned his eyes on Clint. “I was trying to get this done fast so we can move on to scenarios, and talk through everything in more depth... afterwards, but we can talk through them all properly now if you’d like. I don’t want to rush you.” 

 

“Oh my god, trust me, you’re not rushing me,” Clint laughed; he wasn’t sure he’d ever met such a ridiculously considerate dom before. “We can stop right now and do that,” he said, pointing at _Receiving Oral Sex_ , rated a 9 on Phil’s list. “If you want.” 

 

Phil looked tempted, and Clint expertly lifted one suggestive eyebrow to tempt him more, but Phil broke their gaze to knock back the dregs of his own glass of whiskey. “It’s a good job I like how much of a cocktease you are,” he said, voice husky as he turned his attention back to the last of the list, putting a decisive tick next to Clint’s strong preference for _Receiving Corrective Light Punishment_ , which handily matched Phil’s own preference for dishing it out.

 

Clint squirmed; having gone through the files he had a pretty good idea of what Phil liked (and didn’t like), and Phil now knew what Clint liked too. Thankfully, Phil had ignored all the things Clint had given 2s and 3s, which were in reality things Clint hated (but didn’t want to mark too low in case they were deal breakers), and there weren’t any that particularly stood out as things Phil really wanted to try. Even if they were, Clint thought about being put in silken ropes by Phil’s strong, sure hands and found he didn’t hate the idea. He liked the thought of Phil training him, teaching him just how to be the perfect sub for him and him alone.

 

Phil ticked the last box and put the lid back on his pen.

 

“So now you know my vital statistics,” said Clint. “You wanna?” He nudged Phil with his shoulder and tried to look innocent and debauched at the same time. It was a look he had on good authority he could pull off.

 

His breath caught as Phil shifted to put his hand on Clint’s neck, angling Clint’s face right where he wanted it. Clint expected a hard, tongue-fucking kiss, a show of the dominance Phil so sparingly used, but instead he kissed Clint’s cheek before pulling away completely. 

 

“In a minute.” 

 

“Oh my god!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Phil bit back a smile at Clint's frustration. “Rethinking your decision not to jerk off?” He asked as he got to his feet.

 

Clint let out a huff and then flopped back out on the couch and crossed his arms over his chest. His petulant “No” was entirely unconvincing.

 

Phil leaned down and sank a hand into Clint's hair, jerking his head back so that their eyes met, his other hand grasped Clint's chin hard enough to hurt. “I'm going to take a shower and when I get done I'm going to put you on your knees and fuck your face. I won't be gentle about it.” He swiped his thumb over Clint's bottom lip. “I'm going to come down your throat and then I'm going to take you apart piece by piece. If you're very good, I'll let _you_ come sometime before daybreak.”

 

Clint's eyes went wide and then fluttered shut, his tongue slipping out to lick at the pad of Phil's thumb. He was gorgeous; it was all Phil could do to keep from sinking his cock into that mouth right now. He tightened his hand in Clint's hair and gave a little tug before forcing himself to turn loose.

 

Phil lingered in the shower a little longer than strictly necessary, using the time to center himself. He didn't bother to dress when he got done, just dried himself thoroughly, taking care not to spend too much time on his cock. It felt like his dick had been hard for days even though he'd jerked off on Clint's chest that morning. If Phil was so aroused even after coming, Clint was bound to be wound even tighter. The thought of spending the night bringing his sub to the very edge without letting him tip over into orgasm made heat spread through his body. Clint had rated ‘orgasm denial’ very highly, with a polite note beside that checkbox about how he’d rather not be denied for longer than a week; the very idea made Phil’s toes curl.

 

He stepped out into the living room with nothing but a towel tucked loosely around his waist, the thin material standing out from his body where it draped over his erection. He expected to find Clint on the couch where he'd left him, but instead the sub had stripped off his clothes and gone to his knees on the floor.

 

The sight of him nearly took Phil's breath away. He'd seen Clint's body before, bits and pieces at least, but this was the first time he'd seen him completely naked and ready to serve. Phil let his eyes trail slowly over him, taking in every detail.

 

Clint was on his knees, leaned back slightly so most of his weight was on his calves. His thighs were spread wide, each sculpted muscle clearly defined by his position. His cock was hard, not quite as big as Phil's but thick and flushed red, the end shining with pre-come. There was a nest of neatly trimmed dark blonde hair around it, hair that narrowed and trailed up a flat belly to washboard abs. 

 

Clint's chest was broad and thick with muscle, his nipples pebbled into hard little points that Phil couldn’t wait to torment. His hands were clasped together behind his back, the position forcing his chest and shoulders open. Those shoulders and arms were a work of art, like something sculpted out of marble. Clint's head was bowed, his eyes heavy lidded as he chewed nervously on his bottom lip.

 

Looking at Clint, at how beautiful he was in his submission, made something knot up low in Phil's belly. He could play out this scene a thousand times and he'd never get tired of seeing Clint on his knees waiting to serve. The bare skin of his throat cried out for a collar and it was all too easy for Phil to imagine a day when he'd have the privilege of placing his own collar around Clint's neck.

 

Phil crossed the room without a word, his hand jerking the towel loose so that when he stepped in close he could slide his dick into Clint's waiting mouth without preamble. Clint opened up for him with a breathy little sigh, his lips wrapping around Phil's cock like the sweetest kiss. Phil had said he wouldn't be gentle, and he wasn't, both hands sinking into the hair on either side of Clint's head as he thrust his dick into the tight wet heat of Clint's mouth.

 

Clint moaned around his shaft, opening his mouth wide to take him in deeper with each forward thrust. His tongue pressed against the bottom of Phil's dick, flicking and teasing as Phil fucked into him. Phil wanted to stay buried to the hilt, his hands pulling at Clint's hair as the head of his cock bumped against the back of his throat. Clint's mouth was tight around him. His lips where they stretched around Phil's dick were wet with spit and as soft as silk.

 

Clint was looking up at Phil with eyes gone soft and hazy, his cheeks hollowed as he sucked and licked the length of Phil's dick with each harsh snap forward and back of Phil's hips. He was beautiful, and he was Phil's, and the combined thought made Phil's balls draw up tight and full as he felt the pressure build.

 

“Take it,” Phil commanded, his voice gone rough as he shoved forward hard and plunged inside so deep that his balls smacked against Clint's chin. Clint immediately obeyed, little sounds of need and pleasure escaping as he tilted his head to just the right angle and swallowed until the head of Phil's cock slid into his throat.

 

Phil came with a ground out moan, his hot come pulsing down Clint's throat as he emptied himself, filling Clint up and owning him from the inside out. Clint swallowed every drop, his throat constricting around Phil's cock and his eyes sliding shut as he gave himself over completely. Phil knew the sub couldn't breathe like that and had to make himself draw back until only the head of his cock was still in Clint's mouth, Clint breathing hard through his nose as he fought to catch his breath but still obediently sucking on the head of Phil’s cock, swirling his tongue to catch the last drops of Phil’s release.

 

Phil’s hands in Clint's hair loosened, stroking along his temples in a gentle caress. “Good boy,” he said softly, smiling at the way the praise made Clint tremble and lean into his touch. Clint let out a whimper when Phil finally pulled his cock free, Clint's tongue slipping out for one last lick.

 

“Come here,” Phil said. His hands slid over Clint's shoulders and down his arms as he helped him to his feet. Clint was wobbly, his eyes still hazy. “You did so well, Clint. Just perfect.” Phil whispered, putting an arm around Clint's back as he steered him toward the bedroom.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint thinks for a second that Phil's going to do something that he's not into in this chapter, but he doesn't :) Just in case you started worrying as you read it.

 

Clint could have stayed on his knees for this man forever, his mouth filled with cock and Phil's hands in his hair.

 

With the taste of Phil's come still on his tongue and Phil's strong body pressed against him as he guided him into the bedroom, Clint felt like he was sinking down into someplace dark and safe.

 

He let Phil settle him carefully until he was sitting on the side of Phil's big four poster bed, luxuriating in the feeling of Phil's hands running over his body with a light, soothing touch. He watched through half-closed eyes as Phil uncapped a bottle of water that he must have put on the nightstand while Clint was in the shower. When Phil pressed it to Clint's lips, he drank obediently until at least half of it was gone.

 

Clint was quiet, docile, letting Phil arrange him in the bed until he was positioned just how Phil wanted him. Phil had him on his stomach, his hands stretched straight out on either side. Even when he saw Phil bring out two woven silk ropes and wind one around each of the posts at the head of the bed, Clint couldn't bring himself to worry too much. If Phil wanted to tie him up, Clint would get through it.

 

He'd do anything to have Phil stroke his hair and call him good boy again.

 

He lifted a wrist when Phil reached for his hand with the rope. Clint licked his lips, looked up at Phil and said, “Just not too tight, Sir, especially on my shooting hand. Please.”

 

He startled when Phil let out an unhappy little sigh, his mouth going tight. “I'm not going to tie you. Not ever. At least not unless you ask me to. Just because it's something I enjoy doesn't mean I'm going to do it when you've already made your preferences known.” He carefully slid the knotted end of the rope into Clint's palm, using his own fingers to close Clint's fingers down around it. “I just thought you might like something to hold onto.”

 

“Oh,” Clint said softly. He felt a flush rise in his cheeks, of course Phil wouldn't tie him. Shit, he was fucking things up already. “I'm sor--”

 

“Shhh,” Phil said, running a hand down Clint's back. “It’s all right.” He settled the other rope in Clint's remaining hand and then sat back. “I want you to hold on to the ropes, keep your chest down and get up on your knees.”

 

Clint scooted his knees up underneath him, his fingers winding through the silk rope as he levered his ass up and pushed his shoulders into the mattress. The position left him with his ass in the air with his hard cock and heavy balls hanging free, everything open and exposed to Phil's touch.

 

“Beautiful,” Phil murmured. Clint felt the bed shift as Phil climbed on behind him, and then Phil's hands were on his inner thighs, pressing until Clint spread his knees even further. Phil's fingers trailed up over Clint's cheeks, squeezing the globes of his ass. “I've been thinking about getting my hands on you for so long now. Even when I said it was a bad idea, I'd come home and think about spreading you open. I'd fuck my hand and imagine it was your ass, split open on the end of my cock.”

 

Clint shivered at the words, at the thought of Phil jerking off to thoughts of him. Cool as ice Detective Coulson thinking about Clint while his hand was wrapped around that big dick.

 

Phil pulled his cheeks apart, leaned in until Clint could feel his breath against his exposed asshole. “Right here,” Phil said, pressing his thumb against Clint's hole. “Thought about working you open with my tongue and my fingers and fucking you until this tight little hole was ruined. I want to see it fucked full of my come, Clint. I want to fill you up over and over until you’re dripping with it and then I want to suck you clean and do it all over again.”

 

“Yes,” Clint gasped. “Yes, Phil.” God, he wanted it, he wanted all of it. The need was thrumming along his veins like electricity, drawing every muscle tight.

 

Phil let out a low laugh and pressed his thumb further against the pink clench of muscle before letting his hand slide down to cup Clint's balls. “Beg me like a good boy, Clint.” His hand on Clint's balls gave a sharp tug just this side of painful.

 

Clint cried out, the edge of pain pleasure right there. He felt like he could come untouched, just from the vivid picture Phil's words painted. His cock was dripping, his hole was aching to be filled, used, owned. “Please, Phil. Please, Sir.”

 

“Good boy,” Phil said and then leaned in. Both hands came up to spread Clint wide as Phil licked across his hole slowly, his tongue moving with  unhurried deliberation around and around the sensitive pucker until Clint thought he would lose his mind. Clint's hands tightened down on the ropes in his hands, glad of something to hold onto and ground himself with as he finally felt the tip of Phil's tongue push into him.

 

“Fuck,” he moaned. “So good.” Phil was licking him greedily now, fast and then slow, getting Clint so wet that he could feel Phil's spit sliding down his crack and dripping off his balls. Clint was rocking back against Phil's face, trying to get more of Phil's tongue and lips. It was the best torture ever, his cock hard as a rock and leaking steadily, Phil's mouth working at his tender hole until Clint thought he'd go mad from it.

 

He could come from this, Clint thought. He could come from the waves of sensation where Phil's mouth pressed against him, the feel of Phil's strong hands spreading him open and holding him hard enough to bruise. His breath was coming in soft little pants, his balls tight, he was so close.

 

“Don't come.” Phil ordered. He pulled his face away at the same time he wrapped his hand around the base of Clint's cock, clenching down hard enough that Clint cried out in mingled pain and frustration.

 

“FUCK!” Clint half-screamed, pressing his face into the mattress. “I need to come.”

 

Phil let out another one of those low laughs and slapped Clint's ass hard. “Not yet.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Phil absently squeezed his cock, astounded at how beautifully responsive Clint was. He had no doubt that Clint could come just from having that sweet little pucker tongue-fucked, and filed that thought away for future playtime. He wondered how easily Clint could come - could Phil command him to come without even being touched? Could he fuck Clint’s face and tell him to come with Phil’s cock down his throat? He wanted to try it all, and he would soon enough…

 

He drew back and looked at the prize laid out before him. Clint was still in position, shoulders pressed to the bed, ass high and prone, those vulnerable little balls right there, exposed for anything Phil might like to do to them. He tugged on them briefly, holding them in his grip for just long enough to calm Clint and center him, bringing his attention back to Phil.

 

“I won’t come, Sir,” Clint said, and Phil squeezed his balls once before letting them go, stroking his hands down Clint’s thighs and then over his ass, his back and his sides, like a prized possession. 

 

“Good boy,” Phil said, kneeling behind Clint and running one hand down to Clint’s neck to remind him to keep his head down before grasping his hips to reposition him just so. He spent a little time placing Clint how he wanted: back arched, ass most decidedly on display, hands grasping the ropes obediently. He was the most beautiful sub Phil had ever seen.

 

“How long could I keep you like this?” Phil wondered out loud. “Ready and waiting?” 

 

He stroked Clint’s foot when he noticed Clint’s toes curling at that idea. “As long as you want, Sir.” 

 

“What about plugged?” Phil ran a finger over Clint’s pucker, wet and loose enough from Phil’s tongue that he could easily dip the tip of his finger in. Even at that, Clint pressed back in search of more. Phil swatted lightly at Clint’s thigh for the unauthorised movement, pleased by the little gasp the reprimand elicited. 

 

“You could keep me plugged all the time if you wanted,” Clint replied, and Phil could tell just from those beautiful toes and the way tension hummed through him that Clint liked that idea very much. 

 

“So I can have you whenever I want, hmm? Empty my load into you and plug you back up after I’m done?” 

 

Clint merely whined at that, and Phil wondered how it had taken them this long to get here. 

 

He was tempted to fuck Clint right then - all this was doing wonders for his libido and he was almost hard again - but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to come for a while, and he wanted to make good on some of the things they’d agreed were priorities. First, Clint would need to be punished for his flagrant rule breaking that morning. Second, Phil would need to come inside him… again. Third, Phil wanted to lavish praise and attention on his sub, in no doubt that he would take his punishment and subsequent fucking with grace. 

 

“Can you kneel up for me?” Phil asked, thinking again of the way a collar would look around Clint’s throat, how it would feel to hook a finger through its ring and tug him gently where he wanted. Phil watched as Clint rose up and shuffled forward to keep a hold of the ropes, which he pulled up to rest on his thighs so he could keep his back straight. Phil kneeled his way across the bed so he could press up against Clint’s back and reach down to touch Clint’s hands. “How do your hands feel? OK?” 

 

Clint nodded. “Yes Sir, thank you Sir.” 

 

Phil caught his breath at that - being thanked… for what? Having the ropes to hold on to or for the fact that Phil hadn’t bound him as he’d clearly been expecting? Or was it because Phil was checking in with him? From what little Phil could tell of Clint’s exes, he wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter. He didn’t want to risk ruining the moment by pressing him on it right then, but he filed it away to bring up when they debriefed tomorrow. Instead, he kissed Clint’s neck, sucking just shy of leaving a mark. He might do that later.

 

“If you want me to stop -” 

 

“I know, I’ll safeword,” Clint interrupted, clearly impatient for whatever it was Phil had planned. Phil hid a smile against Clint’s shoulder. 

 

“You might regret being so eager once I’m through punishing you for that little display this morning,” he whispered against Clint’s ear. Clint shivered.

 

“I won’t regret it -” Clint turned his face to look into Phil’s eyes and bit his lip. “I deserve it.” 

 

Clint grinned when he felt Phil’s dick make an involuntary jump against his ass, and Phil reached up to pinch both of his nipples til he gasped from it. “Is that so?” 

 

“Sir, please,” Clint ground out, whining when Phil let go and ran his hands down to place them either side of Clint’s waist. 

 

“Please what?” Phil reached down further to fondle Clint’s cock and squeeze his balls while Clint thought about it. 

 

“Please fuck me.”

 

“Nuh-uh.” Phil wrapped his arms around Clint’s chest and squeezed, hugging his sub and kissing the back of his neck. “I’ll never fuck you as a punishment, only a reward.” He moved his hips enough to underline his point.

 

“I’m sorry I was bad, Sir,” Clint said, “I won’t do it again.” 

 

“We’ll see about that.”

 

Phil had a small collection of floggers and paddles, and with Clint’s middling rating for both in mind, he planned on introducing them somewhere down the line, perhaps training Clint to enjoy them as much as Phil did, but for now, his hand would do. Clint had mentioned spanking once or twice before he stopped overtly flirting with Phil, and had rated it highly in their negotiations. Besides, Phil relished the thought that all of this was just the two of them - no leather or plastic or anything else involved. Not even a condom, since they had both recently been fully screened and had both rated come play very highly. 

 

He gave Clint one last kiss on the back of his neck and then moved to one side. “Get back into the position I put you in before,” he instructed, and Clint moved fluidly as he obeyed. 

 

“Very good. Down a little here,” he tapped the small of Clint’s back and he shifted to present his ass even more proudly. “Beautiful.” 

 

Clint made a soft growl from deep inside his chest, like the purr of a cat at the praise, and Phil was almost tempted to forego his spanking and just tell Clint how perfect and wonderful he was instead. But that would do them both a disservice, and tonight was about establishing boundaries, even if they were boundaries Phil hoped Clint might push, regardless. 

 

He rubbed a hand over Clint’s ass, squeezing it now and then. “Now, I’m going to spank you, Clint,” he said, resisting the temptation to sink his fingers and his tongue into that perfect hole again. “Because you need to be punished, yes?” 

 

“Yes Sir.” 

 

“So you’ll know not to disobey me again?” 

 

“Yes Sir.” 

 

“Safeword if you have to and we’ll stop, and I promise I won’t be upset, ok?” 

 

Clint huffed before taking a long breath. “Yes si-ah!” 

 

He yelped as Phil brought down the first blow, hard enough that it would sting but not so hard to leave any kind of mark. “Be good,” Phil warned. 

 

The next slap was a touch harder, the next harder still, but Clint made no sound beyond a catch of his breath. The fourth elicited a short gasp and the fifth a little moan, so Phil continued at that level for a half-dozen slaps, reddening Clint’s ass. 

 


	16. Chapter 16

 

Clint felt again like he could come from this - cock forgotten and untouched but Phil's attention bearing only on him. His ass felt like it was on fire, but as he slipped further and further into subspace, each slap felt better and better, the sting travelling deep into his muscles and his bones and lighting him up from the inside out. Some tiny part of him worried about the full-body blush other doms had commented on in the past, but it was a vague concern, there out of habit rather than anything else; everything seemed to slip away as Phil went on.

 

The little sounds he could hear himself making might have embarrassed him at any other time, but as he went deeper he felt less in control of himself, his whole consciousness centered on how safe he felt in Phil's hands and how all he had to do was not come til his dom told him to. 

 

Perhaps, he thought, as he wordlessly nodded that he was _fine_ when Phil checked in on him again, some day Phil might spank him and have him come at the same time… the thought making his cock jump and his balls hitch. He could do it - he could train himself to do whatever Phil wanted. 

 

“Good boy,” said Phil, hand running up Clint’s back and pressing at the back of his neck, fingers running through his hair. “You take it beautifully, don’t you… Do you want more?” He asked, and Clint couldn’t quite understand the question. Of course he wanted more. 

 

“Please,” he replied, and when nothing more happened he added, “more, please.” He sighed happily when Phil pressed a kiss into his hair before settling back where he had been before and continued.

 

Clint felt like he was wrapped in a warm haze, gentle pulses of light breaking over him every time Phil’s palm landed on his skin. He wanted to stay there forever, unable to stop himself from shifting his hips and gripping the ropes in his hands tightly whenever he heard Phil murmur golden words of praise, calling Clint all sorts of ridiculous things like ‘amazing’ and ‘sweet’ and ‘perfect’. 

 

Clint drifted for a while, handing himself over completely to his dom, content to let Phil take total control. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so free.

 

Clint blinked his eyes open when he felt Phil kiss his temple. “You wanna take a break?” Phil asked, and Clint couldn’t help but laugh - not only did he not want to take a break, but he could tell Phil didn’t much want to either; he was flushed and his pupils were dilated, and he looked like he wanted nothing more than to fuck Clint into next week. 

 

“No, Sir,” Clint drawled. “Fuck no.” 

 

“Like this?” Phil asked, the hand that had been roaming over Clint’s back now ghosting over Clint’s hole. “Are your legs tired?” 

 

“I’m good. Please, put your cock inside me already.” 

 

Clint managed a weak laugh when Phil swatted him for his lip, but it turned into a breathy gasp when its sting caught up to him. Once Phil was fucking him, his raw ass would sing with pain, and he couldn’t help but spread his legs a little wider. 

 

Phil slicked him up and slid one finger into him. “Open,” he murmured. “So open. You need it, don’t you?” 

 

“‘M ready,” Clint mewled. As good as Phil’s gentleness could be, he needed to be fucked, now, and he didn’t care if it hurt a little bit - in fact, he wanted it to - he wanted to feel this tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. 

 

He was surprised, then, when the next thing he felt was the blunt head of Phil’s cock nudging at his hole, and a hand on his hip holding him still.

 

“Slow,” Phil said, sounding as wrecked as Clint felt. “Ok?” 

 

It was torturous - the full width of Phil’s cock sliding inexorably into him, forcing a space for himself inside Clint’s body. It might have hurt were it any quicker, but it just eased in, Phil’s endless patience keeping him from slamming home like a less caring dom might have done.

 

“Good boy,” Phil told him, rubbing more lube over Clint’s stretched rim. “God, you’re so good.” 

 

Clint didn’t know what to say to him - he’d never really had a dom like Phil before, didn’t know how to respond to being told he was _perfect_ and _sweet_. It was all he could do to stop himself from making too many undignified noises, especially when Phil spoke as if he wasn’t even saying these things for Clint’s benefit but to himself, like Clint was some precious thing he was honoured to touch. 

 

It felt like hours before Phil was fully sheathed inside him, with Clint feeling every millimeter of his cock. It didn’t hurt but it felt like too much, so much that he might have panicked if he wasn’t already so far down in subspace and had Phil’s hands all over his neck and his back and his head, his words in Clint’s ears telling him how incredible he was for taking it all. 

 

They stayed like that for a long moment, Clint pinned beneath his dom, until Phil started slowly pulling back out. Nearly as slowly as he’d pressed in, Phil withdrew completely, and Clint whined at the unfairness of the loss. Phil quietly hushed him, one hand roaming and soothing Clint whilst the other rubbed about a quart of lube over Clint’s hole, liberally coating Phil’s cock judging by the ease with which it slid back into place.

 

“God, you feel so perfect, Clint,” Phil said, rolling his hips experimentally to ground himself even deeper. 

 

Clint gripped the ropes and waited. He didn’t want to risk doing something his dom didn’t want, but it was so hard - all he wanted was to fuck himself back and forth on Phil’s dick. But nothing happened…

 

“S-Sir?” 

 

“Do you want me to fuck you, or do you want to fuck yourself on my cock?” He asked, fingers trailing up and down Clint’s back. “Either way you’re going to make me come,” he rolled his hips again to underline his point, “and then you’re going to come on my cock, understood?” 

 

Clint gasped and thrust back and forth almost involuntarily, his body making the decision for him and then carrying on almost unbidden. Phil’s cock rubbed against Clint’s prostate again and again as Clint moved, and judging by the noises he was making, it wouldn’t be long before he was flooding Clint with his come. That very thought made Clint move faster still, fucking himself back and forth on his dom’s perfect cock, Phil’s hand on Clint’s hip to steady himself as the room filled with the sound of skin slapping on pink-spanked skin and moans coming from both of them.

 

“Such a good little sub,” Phil told him, meeting Clint’s thrusts despite his instructions. “Gonna come so deep.”

 

“Please Sir, do it, mark me up on the inside, make me yours.” 

 

Phil gave a broken sob as he gripped Clint’s hips and held him still, stuttering his own movements as he finally emptied himself inside Clint. The knowledge of that - of Phil’s come deposited where it belonged - inside his sub, had Clint almost screaming as he came as well, milking the last of Phil’s release as he squeezed around him. He almost whited out as he experienced what felt like months of orgasms all at once, and another few month’s worth when Phil reached down to give Clint his fist to fuck into. 

 

*

 

Clint didn't know how long they stayed locked together, Phil's dick buried inside him, one hand wrapped around Clint’s cock while the other clenched down on Clint's hip. It felt like Phil owned every inch of him from the inside out. He couldn't suppress a little moan as Phil gave a few more lazy thrusts forward into Clint's ass, sliding his dick through his own come. Clint could stay like this forever, his body wrung out and open for Phil's pleasure.

 

He was bereft when Phil finally pulled out, not wanting the feeling to end, not wanting the inevitable conclusion where Phil sent him on his way until the next time he wanted Clint in his bed. This was the part Clint hated, the part where he suddenly felt too exposed and flayed open after the pleasure was over.

 

Not that Clint wouldn't hurry over the next time Phil wanted him like, ‘the needy little sub’ Trickshot used to call him. At this point, Clint was pretty sure there was nothing he wouldn't do to get a little more of Phil's attention. He wanted to bask in the warmth of Phil's touch and praise even if it was fleeting.

 

He tried to force himself to move, to drive the hazy feelings out of his head and get himself back together. He'd spent most of his sexually active years, at least the ones after Trickshot, forcing himself to snap out of subspace as soon as possible. Yeah, it meant that he spent the next day or so with a god awful case of sub-drop, but at least he had a little dignity to cling to. It hurt a little less if he was the one that kept it casual.

 

Sure, Phil had been full of relationship talk on the front end, but Clint had been around enough to know how it played out in the long run. Most doms just wanted him for a good suck or fuck and then they sent him on his way, full of promises that would get him on his knees that were conveniently forgotten about once they’d had their fun. 

 

Clint wasn't the kind of sub that got the nice stuff afterwards; he wasn't long term material. That was meant for the traditional subs, the delicate ones from good families and with finishing school degrees – not the kid whose homelife consisted of foster care and the circus and was all rough edges and a smart mouth. All that considered, right now he should be using that smart mouth to maybe say thanks and then beat a hasty retreat before he did something stupid and needy. He opened his mouth to do just that but Phil cut him off.

 

“Shhh,” Phil whispered, his hands gentle as he repositioned Clint until he was laying on his side facing the man who had just taken him apart so thoroughly. Clint was afraid to look at him, in case he saw disappointment or disapproval. Phil's arms came up to cradle him and pull him in close so that Clint's face was pressed into the crook of Phil's throat. Clint was grateful for the reprieve, for the chance to close his eyes and enjoy a few more moments.

 

“So sweet,” Phil murmured against the top of his head. “Such a good boy.” His hands stroked over Clint's back, soft little touches that Clint found himself arching into like a cat.

 

With each pass of Phil's hands over his skin, Clint found himself sliding further back into that floaty place in his head. It would be too easy to let himself get used to this. In a few brief minutes, it was like Phil was undoing all the careful layers of self-protection Clint had woven back around himself. It was that thought that finally made him go stiff and push himself out of the warm circle of Phil's arms.

 

He rolled across the bed and was on his feet before Phil spoke, his words measured and careful. “What are you doing, Clint?”

 

Clint scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck and deliberately didn't turn to face Phil. “I'm gonna get out of your hair now.” His voice sounded strained and shaky even to his own ears, though he tried to cover it with a smirk. “Got shit to do.” He shrugged like it was no big deal, and was halfway across the room before Phil stopped him.

 

 “I'm not sure where your head's at, but it's nowhere good. You're my sub - at least for tonight - and I want you here.” The full force of Phil's dominance came out, the tone of his voice making Clint freeze and have to actively fight the urge to fall to his knees.

 

It shouldn't surprise him that Phil could move as fast as he did, but Clint couldn't hold back his gasp when Phil's hand wrapped around his elbow and he was forcefully turned around to face him. Phil's face was drawn up tight, his eyes narrowed down. “You want to tell me what this is about?” Phil's other hand grasped Clint's chin, keeping their gazes locked.

 

“I thought I'd, you know, give you your space. We both got what we needed - fun stuff's over now, right?” Clint tried to make it sound nonchalant but he knew he failed by the way one of Phil's eyebrows shot up.

 

“If by fun stuff, you mean sex, then yeah, two times in one night is about my limit.” Phil studied him, his thumb coming up to brush across Clint's cheekbone. “But that’s not all either of us needs. I thought we were pretty clear that this isn't just about sex.” Phil leaned in and brushed his lips across Clint's. “I want to take care of you.”

 

Clint's heart did a little stutter that made him catch his breath. “But, you've already got me, Phil. I mean, you crook your finger and I'll be here on my knees for you whenever you want.” He licked his lips, and tried to give Phil a flirty little look. “You can do whatever you want remember, we filled out your fancy sex paperwork and everything. The rest - the hearts and flowers part of it, it's not really my style - not meant for someone like me.”

 

“It's meant exactly for you, Clint.” Phil kissed him again, a slow lingering slide of his lips and press of his tongue that had Clint leaning in for more despite himself when Phil pulled away. Phil's hand dropped from his chin to the sensitive skin along his collarbone, just skimming his throat. “And I think you need it as much as I need to give it to you.” There was a blush spreading across Phil's cheeks, his voice dipping down even deeper. “If I wanted a casual fuck with a random sub, I could have found it somewhere else. I thought I was pretty upfront about letting you know that wasn't what I wanted. Not with you. I want to cherish you, Clint.”

 

God, now Clint really did feel like one of those subs in the soap operas or the silly dating reality shows, because Phil's words made him go genuinely weak in the knees. He swallowed down the lump in his throat, focused on the way Phil's hand felt against his skin, warm and heavy and shit, right where a collar would go. Not that Clint wanted a collar or thought he'd get one. Collars were for other subs, subs who were… _cherished_.

 

”The cherishing part,” Clint said. If his voice broke a little, Phil was kind enough not to point it out. “Do you have a bunch of paperwork for that part too?” He let out a nervous laugh, wincing at the sharpness, the slightly hysterical sound of it. Smooth, Barton, real smooth.

 

Phil drew him in close, one arm wrapping around Clint's back and the other stroking along the tender skin of Clint's recently spanked ass. “No, this part we figure out as we go along. Although, I'm thinking it will entail lots of snuggling together on the couch while we watch bad tv, a fair share of inappropriate touching on the job, and maybe if I'm lucky, you can use my kitchen to do something more than heat up the frozen dinners I eat way too many of.”

 

Yeah, Clint could get behind that. Lazy weekends camped out on Phil's couch or whipping up some kind of healthy treat for Phil's sweet tooth, hopefully a hell of a lot more sex... He let himself relax into the warmth of Phil's hug, his mouth curling up in a grin. He wasn't sure how all of this would work, _if_ all of this would work, but Phil was going a long way toward making him think it could be possible. He would probably have a freakout about it tomorrow, but for now he was willing to throw caution to the wind, especially when the huge, warm bed just behind Phil looked so tempting. Perhaps he could wake up early and sneak out in the morning before the fresh light of day made Phil reconsider.

 

He could feel himself slipping back into the obedient, fuzzy headspace he’d been circling before he leapt out of bed as he pressed a kiss to the corner of Phil's mouth. 

 

“Tell me more about this inappropriate touching on the job.”

 


	17. Chapter 17

Phil kissed Clint properly, reasserted a touch of dominance with his tongue just long enough to feel Clint tremble under his hands, on the verge of letting himself slip back down into the dreamy sub space he had been in moments before. 

 

“Tomorrow, ok?” Phil promised, guiding Clint back to the bed. The sheets could do with a change, and they both needed a shower, but more than anything, Phil wanted pliant, sweet Clint back in his arms already. He could sense that Clint wanted that too, despite his trying to jump up moments after they were done. No, Phil wanted to look after this sweet sub, wanted to lavish him with all the care and affection he was so clearly starved for.

 

“Lay on your front,” Phil said, voice soft but no less commanding. Clint did as he was told immediately, and braced himself as though Phil was planning on spanking him some more. Phil hushed him and stroked his hands over the pink flesh of his ass and thighs, checking to make sure Clint wasn’t too hurt. He didn’t think he would be, but he always endeavoured to check. 

 

“Sir?” 

 

“Hmm?” Phil hummed. He looked up as Clint shifted to look at him. “I’m just looking.” Normally he’d ask how his sub was doing, but he wasn’t sure Clint would answer him honestly now, not after his little escape attempt. 

 

“Lookin’ at what?” 

 

“This beautiful ass.” With that, Phil pried Clint’s ass cheeks apart and bit off a moan of pleasure. Clint was still wet with lube and come, and when Phil pressed a thumb against Clint’s hole, it accepted the intrusion greedily. Clint gasped and actually shifted to give Phil better access, and Phil cursed his refractory period for not being that of a superhero. Another time, not now because it was all so new, but soon if everything panned out, Phil would plug Clint up just to have him again in the morning.  For now he pressed both thumbs in to pry them apart and watch Clint open for him, an errant droplet of come escaping before being chased back in by Phil. 

 

“I like you being filled with me,” he said, moving to lay beside Clint and roll him to one side to better spoon him. Clint shivered and pressed his ass back against Phil’s flaccid cock. “You like it too?” 

 

“Yes Sir,” Clint replied sweetly. Phil reached down to fondle Clint’s cock before drifting his fingers up Clint’s body. 

 

“My usual preference is to sleep now and clean up in the morning, wake up to you smelling and looking like sex... but if you want we can take a shower right now and change the sheets before we sleep.” 

 

Clint made a little noise of dissent, seemingly before he could stop himself, and Phil couldn’t help but squeeze him closer. “Whatever you want, Sir,” he replied.

 

“Tomorrow, then.” He pressed kisses to the back of Clint’s neck and his shoulders - everywhere he could reach without letting go while Clint settled. Phil wanted it to be crystal clear that the only place he wanted Clint to go right now was to bed, with him, at the very least for the rest of the night. 

 

“You’re so good, Clint,” he murmured, lips against close-cropped hair. “Open up so good for me…” Clint responded with a few ‘thank you, Sir’s and such, til it became clear that the purpose of this was the sentiment behind the words rather than the words themselves. Clint was good, Clint was sweet, and Clint was Phil’s.

 

Perhaps it was too much so early on, especially given Clint’s bad history of mistrustful doms, but once Phil started he found it hard to stop, and they drifted to sleep in one another's arms til Phil’s sweet nonsense truly was nothing more than soft breath against Clint’s skin.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Clint woke slowly, as if coming up from a great depth into soft sunshine. He was a few yards from the surface - almost fully awake but not quite, when he jolted into full consciousness. Where was he? Why was he naked? Why did his ass feel like he’d had sex last night?

 

“Shh,” said a voice, smooth dominance and something like fondness making the simple sound into an order Clint found himself following. _Phil_.

 

So, his plan of sneaking out before Phil woke up clearly hadn’t panned out. He rolled over to face the guy who was probably going to be nice about asking him to grab his things and get out. Hopefully he could take a quick shower first, at least. He remembered something about a shower last night, but mostly he just remembered feeling like he was wrapped in a cloud of candyfloss. 

 

God it was good. 

 

“Good morning,” said Phil, still naked and wrapped in the sheets beside Clint. For some reason Clint had imagined Morning-Phil being dressed in a suit, all business as he told Clint how busy he was and how he could show himself out, right? 

 

“Hi,” said Clint, and as much as he wanted to get the hell out of the place before he said or did something embarrassing like ‘please keep me forever’, the warmth of Phil’s smile and the relaxed way he had his head leaning on one hand as he looked Clint over pulled him back in. 

 

“I ordered breakfast,” said Phil, pressing something on his phone before sliding it under his pillow. “I hope you’re hungry.” 

 

“Hungry?” Clint said dumbly, before they both looked at Clint’s stomach when it rumbled in approval of Phil’s plans. 

 

“Well we’ll need something to get us through our debrief this morning.” 

 

Clint’s jaw dropped. “Did we get called in?! Did something happen?” 

 

“No, no!” Phil reached out to rub a warm hand over Clint’s arm. “I’m sorry to panic you - I meant for us. About last night.” 

 

“Oh.” Right, because of course Phil has a weird paperwork-related way to get rid of his dates. 

 

“Clint,” Phil’s hand moved to Clint’s face, where he rubbed his fingers ever so gently over Clint’s morning stubble. “Stop over-thinking things, ok?”

 

Clint pouted. “I’m not over-thinking.” 

 

Phil bit his lip, and Clint watched as the softness of it slipped slowly out from between Phil’s teeth. He wondered if it would be too presumptuous to close the distance between them and kiss him again. He wished that Phil would just do it for him. 

 

“What?” 

 

“We shouldn’t, but I want to have you again right now.” 

 

He actually looked embarrassed, and Clint could feel his own answering blush. It was all he could do to stop himself from rolling over and presenting himself. “You can… have me,” he replied. “Sir.” 

 

Phil leaned over, pushing Clint onto his back as he took Clint’s mouth in a rough, possessive kiss that pressed Clint back into the pillows, pinned in place. 

 

When he drew back again, Phil took a deep breath but didn’t move away. “Sorry,” he said, “I’ve been laying here for nearly an hour and it was all I could do not to pounce on you.” 

 

“You can pounce,” said Clint, thinking he’d do just about anything to get his hands back on the hard dick that Phil seemed to be trying not to be too obvious about. “Put it on my form or whatever.” 

 

“If I told you to, would you get on your hands and knees and show me your ass? Show me how open you still are from last night?”

 

Clint shivered, with no doubt in his mind about his answer. “Yes Sir.”

 

“I bet you would, too,” said Phil, closing his eyes for a long moment before forcing himself to move, which was just illogical as far as Clint was concerned - he was all for Phil’s plan. When Phil was far enough away, Clint rolled over and tossed the sheets aside as he knelt and pressed his head to the mattress, ass high in the air. When nothing immediately happened, Clint gave his ass a little wave from side to side. 

 

“Sir?” 

 

A hand rested lightly on Clint’s ass, and he thought he might be getting another spanking, but the hand merely squeezed gently before sliding along Clint's back to cup Clint’s neck just like he had the night before. “Such a good boy,” Phil murmured. “And you’ll be well rewarded after our shower. C’mon.” 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Showering with Clint was excruciating for a number of reasons, not least of which was how Phil’s good little sub was now being an outrageous cocktease. Perhaps it was just because Phil was so determined to wait til they had debriefed the night before to get his hands back on him, but it seemed that everything Clint did was orchestrated purely to arouse and tempt him. 

 

Of course, he didn’t have to shower _with_ Clint, but where was the fun in that? 

 

They were out and dressed in sweats and tshirts by the time their breakfast arrived - usually Phil preferred to go out for breakfast, or not eat anything at all, but he was loathe to leave his sub’s side and had barely anything in the kitchen beyond last night’s leftovers with which to make anything. 

 

“There was something we briefly went over last night,” Phil said, bags in his hand as he closed the front door with his hip. “I thought we’d try.” 

 

Clint looked wary again, and Phil thought perhaps he should wait til another time, when they were both feeling more secure - assuming it all worked out of course - but the thought of Clint on his knees, Phil feeding him bites of maple-syrup-coated waffle and bacon and fruit made Phil’s heart swell. 

 

“Can you fetch one of the pillows from under the couch?” Phil asked on the way to the dining table before busying himself with putting their food on real plates and laying out napkins and such. Clint’s eyes were wide when he came to the table with the pillow - it had a deep purple cover that didn’t go with anything else in Phil’s home. Phil had maybe been thinking about Clint's passing mention of purple being his favorite color when he'd bought it on a whim the week before.

 

“Thank you,” said Phil, offering Clint a warm smile and a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Kneel for me, Sweetheart.” 

 

Clint placed the pillow and did as he was told, looking at his hands before Phil pulled his chair out from the table so he could sit facing Clint with the food to one side of him. This, of course, put Phil’s crotch right at Clint’s eyeline. Phil was tempted to reprimand him for staring so openly but refrained - he didn’t mind his sub having a thing for his dick one bit. Soon, god, soon enough perhaps he’d have Clint on his knees every meal time.

 

But for now, Phil controlled himself. 

 

Clint had obviously never been hand fed before, and between the pair of them they probably dropped about a third of the food on the floor (which Phil didn’t mind - he ordered extra for a reason), but by the end of the meal, Clint was taking each morsel delicately between his lips before daintily chasing after Phil’s fingertips for any syrup he missed the first time. It was easy and it was nice - letting Clint do something submissive but not overtly sexual when it seemed as though his previous partners had been all about the sex and not so much anything else. 

 

Of course, whilst the act itself wasn’t particularly sexual, they were both tenting their pants by the time they were done. When Phil withdrew his hand for the last time to wipe his fingers with a napkin, Clint pressed his head forward to bury his head in Phil’s crotch. 

 

Phil moaned and let Clint do as he pleased for a moment - let him inhale Phil’s faint musk and nose against his semi-hard length until he leaned back enough to look up and ask. “Please?” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Clint couldn't stop himself from licking his lips and looking up at Phil through his eyelashes. He knew exactly what he looked like in his position at Phil's feet. He knew he was being a needy sub and that Phil might be put off by it, but he couldn't help himself. He'd never been handfed before, never had a dom spend so much time praising and petting him with no clear reason. He _was_ a needy sub at the moment, and what he needed was to get his mouth on Phil's dick. He'd worry about the rest of it later.

 

He sighed when Phil ran a hand over his hair and then let one elegant finger trail along Clint's cheekbone. “We should really talk first,” Phil started.

 

Clint turned his head just enough to suck the tip of Phil's finger into his mouth, his tongue flicking across the gun callus on Phil's trigger finger.

 

It was a dirty move but it worked.

 

Phil let out a low laugh and pulled his finger away, both hands going down to push his loose sweat pants down enough to release his cock. It was fully erect already, the slit wet with a glistening drop of precome. “You did so well for me last night, and you've been such a sweet boy this morning, I can't deny you. You can suck me, but mouth only, no hands.” He arched an eyebrow and gave Clint a long look. “I don't want to come yet. You understand?”

 

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” Clint said as he leaned forward and knelt up just enough to open his mouth over Phil's dick. He rested a hand on each of Phil's thighs, delighting in the way the muscles flexed and clenched under his palms as he slowly slid his lips down Phil's length.

 

Fuck, but this man had a perfect dick. Just the right size to hurt in all the best ways. This morning Clint's asshole was still pleasantly sore from the thorough fucking of the night before. But the way Phil's dick fit his mouth, yeah, Clint would never get tired of it. The fat cockhead was nearly too wide for Clint at this angle, straining his mouth until he could feel his eyes tearing up from the stretch of it. He swirled his tongue along the underside, pressing against the firm flesh as he tried to take in as much as possible.

 

He wanted to make it good for Phil, wanted Phil to remember how his dick felt buried in Clint's mouth. He wanted Phil to think of how his lips felt pressed against his skin.

 

“Beautiful,” he heard Phil murmur as one hand stroked through his hair and the other settled heavily on Clint's shoulder. “I could stay in your mouth for hours, have you suck me until I come down your throat and then just have you hold me in your mouth until I go soft.” A shudder ran through Clint at his words, and Phil's hand tightened on Clint's shoulder. “You like the sound of that don't you? Keep you on your knees with my dick in your mouth until I'm ready to go again. I bet you would be an excellent cockwarmer. You could keep those pretty lips of yours stretched around me until they're sore and you'd still beg for it, wouldn't you, Sweetheart?”

 

Clint moaned, his own dick jumping at the thought. He was pretty sure the front of his pants were soaked through from the precome leaking steadily from his erection. He was used to doms telling him what a slut he was, how needy he was, but somehow when Phil spoke it felt like endearments instead of humiliation. As though Phil actually liked this about him.

 

Phil's hand slipped under the neckline of Clint's tshirt, his fingers stroking along the bare skin of Clint's throat in teasing little motions. “Your mouth was made for this, made to choke on my cock.” His other hand wiped away the little trickle of saliva that had run out the corner of Clint's mouth. “Going to have to make you stop,” Phil said even as he started thrusting upwards into Clint's mouth, the head of his cock going deep enough to make Clint struggle for breath.

 

Clint whined and tried to open his mouth wider, he wanted it all. He wanted the taste of Phil's come on his tongue again. His hands clenched down on Phil's thighs as he bobbed his head up and down faster and faster, trying to swallow Phil's dick down even though he knew the angle would never work. His whine turned into a full on cry of frustration when both Phil's hands sank into his hair and pulled his head away.

 

He strained against the hands in his hair for one brief moment until he could focus on Phil's voice. “Shhh, Sweetheart. You’re too good - I had to stop you before I completely lost control.” Phil shifted one hand so he could brush his thumb across Clint's bottom lip. “How about we head over to the couch now and talk about last night.”

 

Clint blinked away the pleasant haze that had begun to settle over him and forced a smile. “Yeah, okay.”

 

Phil gave him an appraising look and then offered his hand to help Clint get to his feet. Clint hoisted himself up and quickly pulled away. He hesitated over whether he should pick up the pillow he'd been kneeling on and then decided to leave it by the table. Phil could do whatever he wanted with it once Clint was out the door.

 

He settled himself on the far end of the couch and waited for the inevitable. Clint usually didn't stick around for this part of it and most of the doms he'd been with were satisfied with hand-waving the whole discussing what worked versus what didn't part of things. Of course, most of the doms he spent time with were only casual hookups or one-scene and move on kind of people. Frankly, he'd had enough of having whatever fuck-ups he made detailed back to him when he was with Trickshot.

 

He stared at his hands and tried to steady his breath. If nothing else, the talking things through bit would probably take care of his hard-on and he wouldn't have to hoof it to the subway trying to hide an erection. At least Phil would be nice about it, he wasn't the type to take delight in making Clint feel inadequate. Jesus, he would probably give Clint more of the sex paperwork with politely worded suggestions on how Clint could improve his performance.

 

Clint's shoulders tensed up as Phil perched on the arm of the couch next to him instead of taking a seat on the other end of the couch. Clint rubbed his finger over his thumb ring and prepared himself. Might as well get it over with, rip it off like an old band-aid and move forward.

 

“Hey,” Phil's voice was soft. “Where are you going in your head right now?” He leaned in close, his chest pressing against Clint's shoulder as he draped an arm across Clint's back. “You look like you're about two seconds from bolting for the door.”

 

Clint purposefully didn't let himself lean into the comfort of Phil's touch. “Just waiting for your checklist review, or whatever.”

 

Phil gave him a little squeeze and then slid down on the couch next to him. “No checklist, just a check-in, all right?”

 

“Sure thing. Whatever you need to do.” Clint started picking at a loose thread on the seam of his sweat pants, grateful for something to focus his attention on other than the press of Phil's body next to his.

 

Phil let out an exasperated little huff. “This is what you hide behind that cocky attitude. I can see that we're going to have a few things to work on.”

 

And here it comes, Clint thought. His list of things to improve on. He tried to swallow past the lump in his throat.  Maybe it would be little things that he actually _could_ improve on with some effort and Phil would play with him again. Not like the shit Trickshot criticized, stuff that had been impossible for Clint to change like how his shoulders were too broad and the eager sounds he made when he was close to coming.  

 

Even now he could hear the ridicule in Trickshot's voice as he itemized all of Clint's failures.   _Such a slut for it, would probably bend over for anybody, you sound like a goddamn dog in heat with your moaning, body more suited for hard labor than pleasing a dom._

 

“First off, was there anything last night that made you uncomfortable or that you didn't like?” Phil's soothing voice startled Clint out of his little trip down bad memory lane and he didn't protest when Phil reached out and put a hand over his, stilling his fingers.

 

Clint looked up at him then, the confusion clear on his face. “Stuff _I_ didn't like?”

 

“Well, yeah,” Phil flushed a little. “It seemed like the ropes made you uncomfortable but that was mostly because you thought I was going to tie you up even though you already said you didn't like being restrained.”

 

“But I thought you wanted to tell me what you didn't like. You know, what all I did wrong.”

 

Phil gave him a careful smile, “Clint, you didn't do anything wrong and I'll be glad to tell you my favorite parts and about anything I didn't like quite as much. But, I thought we could start with you because you seem to be on edge.”

 

This guy was really too good to be true.  

 

Clint searched for something to say. “Um, everything was good for me. I mean, yeah, I wasn't keen on getting tied up but having the ropes to hold onto was good.” He remembered the feeling of the silky rope in his palms. “It was like the benefit of bondage without being unable to escape.”

 

Phil nodded. “And was there any part that you really liked?”

 

Clint's eyes slid away from Phil's too intense gaze. “I liked all of it, Phil. The way you touched me and fucked me and how you felt inside me...” He spoke softly, almost a whisper. “I liked the things you said to me, when you said I was sweet and a good boy.” God, this was too hard.  Talking like this was harder than giving up physical control, it felt more personal somehow.

 

Phil's hand came up to gently stroke along his face. “You are a good boy, Clint. So sweet for me. You took everything I gave you just beautifully. It makes me want to keep you in my bed or at my feet forever.” He waited until Clint looked back at him before continuing. “You want to know the only thing I disliked? It was the way you tried to run away last night and the way you keep trying to distance yourself today.”

 

Clint blinked away the sudden sting of tears. He was not that guy. He was not going to cry over a dom showing him some kindness.  

 

Phil didn't wait for a response, or maybe the way Clint had gone so quiet and still was answer enough. "We all carry around our own baggage, Clint. Hell, you don't get to be our age without having gone through some not so great things. I know enough about how you were treated by some of your former doms to understand that most of them needed to be punished themselves. And not in the fun way."

 

Clint shifted on the couch, letting himself lean a little closer to Phil. He felt like he was back at the circus learning to walk the tightrope, torn between exhilaration and terror. He wanted to believe the tenderness and care that Phil was showing was real but he was all too aware of the possibility of getting hurt.  

 

He finally spoke, his voice so quiet that it was little more than a whisper. "My past hasn't been the kind that encourages getting close and sticking around. Getting off and then getting out has pretty much been how I played it. Easier to protect myself that way." He lost himself a little in Phil's steady gaze, feeling the pull of attraction that went so much deeper than what he was used to.

 

Phil nodded, his arm going around Clint and pulling him in close. "I'd really like the chance to show you how great things can be if you skip the getting out part."

 

Fuck it, Clint thought. He trusted Phil Coulson to have his back at work when his life was on the line.  Maybe he could trust him with the other stuff too.  He thought about how tenderly Phil treated him, how much care he showed even when he was fucking Clint into the mattress. It might not work out, probably wouldn't work out if Clint's track record was any indication, but it was worth a try. He licked his lips, "I can work on it, maybe. I can't promise I won't try to make a run for it now and then, and I’m probably gonna be a lot of work - more than any other sub you might’ve picked-” Clint didn’t want to give Phil false impressions after all “-but I can try if you want."

 

Phil leaned in close, brushed a kiss across the corner of Clint's mouth. "I want, okay? I really want."

 

* * *

 

 

Phil was glad of all the time he and Clint had spent together before doing this, because it gave him an insight into just how guarded Clint was being during their debrief. Usually, Clint didn’t hold anything back at work, but with this it was like he was afraid to really let Phil know what he liked and didn’t like. 

 

“You need to be honest with me, Clint,” Phil said, not for the first time, when Clint was wrestling with his thoughts on the ropes. Phil almost regretted them now, both for giving Clint the impression that he was heavily into bondage (he liked it and would be open to tying Clint up in the future, but it was by no means a deal-breaker). Now Clint was telling Phil that he didn’t mind them and in fact wanted Phil to ‘do whatever you normally do.’   

 

“There is no ‘normally,' Clint. This isn’t one-size-fits-all.” He tipped Clint’s chin towards him with the tip of a finger, and Clint’s eyes looked almost guilty when he met Phil’s gaze. “If last night proved anything, it’s that we’re compatible, hmm?” Clint nodded. “So everything else - ropes, restraints…” Phil gestured towards the papers still strewn across the coffee table and tried to think of something Clint had shown an interest in that wasn’t a huge kink of Phil’s. “Cock cages… That’s all just gravy as far as I’m concerned. This is to figure out what works for both of us, ok? We don’t have to decide it all right now, we’ll check in all the time and see how things work and don’t work as we go along.” 

 

Clint took a slow, deep breath before talking. Phil waited patiently, though even this - Clint trying so hard to be good and do as Phil asked - turned him on a little. He couldn’t wait til they had established this relationship more fully and he could bring in new elements that he could train Clint to take, knowing how hard he would try to be a good boy for him. 

 

“I’ve had bad experiences with bondage,” Clint said at last, and Phil let him wring his hands as he plowed onward. “But I want - I think… when I saw the ropes last night I thought it would be ok.” He flicked his eyes up to Phil’s even gaze. “With you.” 

 

Phil schooled his face to not look too pleased, but his heart leapt in his chest. He ran his hand through Clint’s hair and squeezed the back of his neck. “I _would_ like to try restraints with you, Clint, I won’t deny that, but I promise you: I’ll never ever do anything with you that we haven’t discussed beforehand. And… only if I think you’re ready for it.”

 

The heated look Clint gave him at this caveat made Phil smile - he was willing to bet they were both imagining the moment Clint begged Phil to use his ropes on him. 

 

They went through the rest of the evening’s activities one by one, Clint’s confidence bolstered once it was clearly established that nothing he said would be a dealbreaker, and that Phil would never punish him for anything he did or didn’t want. 

 

Eventually, Phil broached the subject of aftercare. It had seemed like a formality on both their parts the day before, but clearly not in the same way. Phil had assumed thorough, lingering aftercare was a given, whilst Clint was under the impression that he didn’t deserve any whatsoever. 

 

Phil hadn’t realised just how bad Clint’s prior experiences had been til that moment the night before, and was more determined than ever to prove to Clint not only how essential proper aftercare was, but how much he deserved it.

 

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

Six weeks later, with the perp locked up in the state penitentiary awaiting trial, Clint was trying not to fidget as he waited for his name to be called for his official commendation from the city of New York. 

He pulled down his sleeves when he noticed there were the faintest marks on his wrists from the ropes Phil had put him in the night before. They were still experimenting with bondage, but ever-patient Phil was determined to start small - Clint’s wrists tied together during dinner like the night before, for instance. Clint was more than ready to graduate on to something a little more x-rated, but he was willing to admit that going slow was actually kind of amazing with the right dom.

His name was called, and thankfully, he just had to go up and shake the Mayor’s hand rather than make a speech or anything too fuck-uppable. As he stood, one hand on his medal, the other in the Mayor’s firm handshake as they posed for photos, he caught sight of Phil in the crowd, standing up and applauding along with the rest of the crew from the precinct. He smiled even wider at that, feeling a deep and overwhelming sense of pride and gratitude.

Afterwards at the burger place Phil still favoured (despite Clint’s growing success in getting him to eat healthily), the whole squad embarrassingly sang ‘For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow’ before Fury stood to make a brief speech.

“Barton, you’ve more than proved your worth amongst the finest of New York’s finest-” Hill nodded beside him - pride in the Precinct was a big deal at the 18th. “And you went above and beyond, not just in this case but in all of the cases you work. Not only that, but you’ve actually achieved the impossible - you got Coulson here to chill the fuck out for the first time in possibly his entire adult life, for which we all thank you.” Phil ducked his head, but looked pleased despite himself, and Clint reached under the table to grab his hand and squeeze. 

“To Clint Barton.” Fury raised his glass and so did the rest of the team in agreement. 

Clint made like he was going to stand and make a speech, before waving a hand and laughing. “I’m not making a speech - eat your food!” 

Everyone laughed and soon enough everyone was chattering amongst themselves and eating their greasy food. Clint watched Phil eat and thought about what they could have for dinner to counteract it, but Phil caught him looking and smiled. “Rabbit food tonight, ok?” 

Clint nudged him and grinned. “It’s like you know me.” 

He started pushing up his sleeves a little just to keep them out of the way of all the oil everywhere, when Phil caught his arm and winced. “Clint-”

Clint immediately pushed them back down again and winced. “Sorry - I forgot.” At Phil’s look of concern, he shook his head and then leaned in to whisper, “I like it.” 

Phil looked very intense for a second, the look that meant he was calculating some new piece of information that would either break a case or drive Clint wild in the bedroom. Clint bit his lip and fought against the urge to slide to his knees under the table right there. 

“Get a room already,” called Skye across the table, grinning when Phil tossed a fry her way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end!! Thank you so much for reading, this has been a lot of fun to write, and we've both loved reading all your awesome comments! 
> 
> Excelsior!
> 
> ETA: Thanks to everyone for reading and commenting. We absolutely live for feedback even though we are shit at responding to comments. Also, there are two time stamps to this story in various stages of completion that will be posted when I get back from vacation. - Lillyjk

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilery warnings for fic content: 
> 
> This fic features a series of crimes where victims are sexually abused by a criminal who Clint and Phil are trying to hunt down.
> 
> There is mention of Clint being subjected to dub-con sex in the past, and as they work in the sex crimes unit, there is mention of this kind of thing in the background/generally throughout. There are some descriptions of noncon in the story from the victims in the case that Clint and Phil are investigating.
> 
> There's a moment in chapter 12 which is borderline dubcon between two super consenting adults who've both emphatically demonstrated their agreeableness to the situation previously, which then gets resolved in later chapters during a proper negotiation. A couple of people have expressed concern over it so fair warning if that's something that might upset or affect you.


End file.
